


Resistance Admittance (2018)

by JennyB



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Blood Drinking, Character Death, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:44:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 131,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennyB/pseuds/JennyB
Summary: Geoffrey McCullum despises vampires. What would happen if he became one - by his own choice?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Admissão de Resistência (2018)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461187) by [Vinifar7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinifar7/pseuds/Vinifar7)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Сопротивление](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16605620) by [Vereskstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vereskstar/pseuds/Vereskstar)



> This, dear readers, is a WIP. I'm not typically one for WIPs, because I'm a chronic tweaker...but since the muse is working, I'm taking a chance. As this story progresses, there is a chance that I will 'tweak' past chapters. If I do, whenever I post a new chapter, I will leave notes if anything previous has changed (significant) that might compel you to look at it again.
> 
> This is also my first foray into this fandom, so please, apologies in advance if it's not to your tastes. Since there is so much not explained and left to interpretation, much of the head canon is my own. Perhaps it's not the same as yours, but I do hope that you enjoy my version for what it is... ♥
> 
> I had a 'what if' moment while I was in the middle of completely spoilering myself for the game. There are, basically, two choices for what to do with Geoffrey. What would happen if events played out slightly differently? I thought it would be something interesting to explore, anyway.

_"But he's my brother!"_

_"You cannot show compassion or remorse where the leech is concerned, Boy. They are not human, but soulless devils. As soon as you show any measure of mercy, they will exploit you for your weakness. And then, you will be dead. Or worse, you will find yourself among their vile ranks." Carl Eldritch grasped the young boy's chin, his expression one of stern kindness. "Your brother died the night that beast attacked him. I thank God that I was able to spare you from such a fate. You are my kin now, and in time, you will become my greatest student." He put the revolver in the boy's hand, wrapping his fingers around the much smaller ones, encouraging him to grasp the trigger. "That's good, Geoffrey." Eldritch turned his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Hold it steady, lads," he barked at the two Guard chaplains who had Ian McCullum bound in chains and on his knees, a holy rosary around his neck and large crucifixes keeping him at bay. He moved behind Geoffrey, hands on the boy's shoulders. "Remember what I taught you. Aim for the head or the heart. Go on now; make me proud of you."_

_"M'sorry," Geoffrey murmured as he pulled the trigger, his eyes squeezing closed as the shot rang out…_

Geoffrey McCullum started awake at his desk, the back of his hand coming up to swipe across his forehead. It had been his first kill. His own brother. In the beginning, he'd felt somewhat guilty, thinking himself only marginally better than the vampires as he brought them down night after night. But, over time, the kills had gotten easier, walking that sharp moral line had gradually blurred when it came to human sympathizers, and now, he not only kept his eyes open when he killed, he even enjoyed watching them suffer and die. And he would not rest until he'd eradicated every last vampire from the country.

He glanced at the list of names sitting on his desk blotter, and he frowned as one name in particular stood out:

_Doctor Jonathan Reid_

The frown deepened as he thought about the fight he'd had with the good doctor in the hospital earlier in the week. Geoffrey would admit to being arrogant in how that had all gone down. Reid was a neonate, and had been a doctor to boot. It should have been an easy kill for someone with his particular skillset. But he'd been beaten. Badly. Though as he'd knelt on the floor, mortified, and somewhat worried about what his immediate future would bring, he'd found himself captivated by those pale blue eyes. They were cold, but they weren't emotionless. Not completely. He knew he'd stared into them for longer than he should have, much as he had the first time they'd met in Edgar Swansea's office. He couldn't help it. As much as he hated himself for it, for being weak, he was entranced by those eyes. He wondered what else about Doctor Reid might mesmerize him…

Geoffrey's eyes widened slightly, and he gave his head a mental shake. He was disgusted with himself for having such inappropriate thoughts about a _leech_ of all things, and he could only imagine how disappointed his adopted father would be with him if he knew. To have _any_ thought beyond how to kill it was an abomination!

_…we are not enemies…we both want the same thing…_

"Gah! Get out of my damned head, leech!" Geoffrey growled as he roughly stood up, his brow furrowing as he glared across the room at the surprised Guard that had come to fetch him. "What?" he demanded crossly.

"Uh…C-captain Bates sent me for you, Sir. The, uh…the rookies are ready to meet you."

"Thank you, Sergeant Millar." When the guard silently stood there, waiting, Geoffrey rolled his eyes as he got to his feet and followed. As he stepped outside onto the parade ground, he saw Bates watching him like an anxious mother, and setting his jaw, he squared his shoulders, ignoring the tightness that still lingered in the muscles, and strode purposefully towards the small group of officers. "How many tonight, Bates?" he asked, the rich baritone carrying the unmistakable lilt of an Irishman.

"Twenty. But, um...may I have a word with you, first?"

"Go on with it, then."

"In...private?"

"Tch." The two moved to the small alcove, out of sight and out of earshot. "This had better be good, Bates."

"It's nothing, really." Bates offered a weak smile when he saw the resultant glare. "It's just that, with everything that's happened-" He cut himself off when the angry blue narrowed further. "We're just... _concerned_. We know you _say_ you're fine, but when you came home the other night, you looked half dead. By God, Geoffrey, by rights you _should_ be after that. I just-are you certain you want to hunt with the men tonight?" He let his gaze travel over the still bruised face, the split lip, the tired visage.

Geoffrey's upper lip drew back in the beginnings of a sneer. "Are you suggesting that I'm _weak_?"

"What?" Bates' eyes widened. "No. No! God, never! But Geoffrey, even the Lord Almighty rested! You need time to recover. Let us handle things. Just for one night."

"The Lord rested when His work was completed. Mine is not." He jabbed the tip of his index finger into the chest of the other man. "Do not speak to me about this again, Bates. The Guard is my responsibility, and I will see this to completion." With an irritated snort, he returned to his post and began to pace slowly along the front rank. His steely gaze assessed the line of fresh-faced new recruits that had eagerly turned up that night to join the Guard. It pleased him to see. More able bodies meant less leeches roaming the streets of London. The problem was this bloody flu epidemic, and the vile creatures it spawned. With so many dead and dying, the monsters seemed to be turning up in greater and greater numbers. And these beasts were monsters in every sense of the word. Violent. Feral. Soulless. Unlike the undead he'd battled in the past. At least those vampires were somewhat predictable. They acted in a grotesque mockery of humanity, feigning politeness and manners before callously tearing out your throat. It was just the nature of the beast. And Geoffrey understood their nature all too well.

 _I'm trying to put an end to it. Just like you are!_ Reid's voice echoed in his mind. "Lies," he murmured to himself, and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he stopped his pacing. "So, you're here to fight vampires, are you?" He rounded on the new squad and glared at each one of them. "I hope you've all prepared yourselves for a fight, because by God, you're going to get one," he said, his voice commanding, commanding respect, demanding obedience. "Some of you may fancy yourselves brawlers. Others might think you're pretty hot shit with a gun. But let me tell you, everything you _think_ you know? You know fuck all. When you encounter a leech for the first time, it'll be unlike anything you've experienced. They're strong. They're fast. They're clever. Don't let him sway you with pretty words. They are liars and deceivers, all of them, and when they start to talking, the best way to end the conversation is with a bullet to the head. That, or through their cold, dead hearts. No mercy."

_I'll offer you the mercy you never offered me..._

Geoffrey's jaw clenched tighter as he remembered the offered hand, the deceptively strong grip that held fast to his arm until he'd managed to get his feet under him again. He remembered the icy blue eyes silently watching him, the concern borne of a doctor's oath, and yet something beyond that. His eyes narrowed as he dismissed the thought. "Anywhere else, and the bastard'll get back up." He let his eyes roll to their corners, and he saw Millar, Bates, and the few other trusted members of his staff trying to discreetly watch him from a distance. He snorted, and drew himself up to his full height. "Tonight we hunt the sewers. Rumour has it there's a nest of them hiding underground. Murdering bastards. No survivors." He turned to his second in command. "Captain Bates, we leave in ten minutes."

Thirty minutes later, Geoffrey was crouched on a steel catwalk, peering through the crosshairs of a rifle. His group of half a dozen men had found a group of thirty skals feeding on bloated corpses down a sewer tunnel. Their shrieks were off-putting, even to him, but the stench of rotting flesh and decay did nothing to improve the atmosphere. The only upside had been his discovery that these particular vampires lacked the ability to jump. Or, if they could, they lacked the intelligence to consider it. It had literally been like shooting fish in a barrel. The creatures would shriek, and make menacing swipes at them, but from their vantage point, they were safe and were systematically picking them off one by one. He fired his shot, a smirk curving his lips upward as he watched the head explode in a gruesome fashion, and then lowered his weapon. "Looks like that's the lot of them, lads. Let's head home."

The squad made its way through the maze of tunnels and shafts, and as they slogged through the ankle deep water, every step twinged a different muscle or bruise. The chronic ache left Geoffrey feeling fatigued, and with no conversation going on around him, the rhythmic sloshing set Geoffrey's mind to wandering again. He played the fight over and over in his mind, wondering what he could have done differently. Arthur's blood had strengthened him, but it hadn't been enough. It _should have_ been enough. More than enough. Reid was powerful. Which meant he was dangerous. Which meant he should be eliminated. Geoffrey frowned. He'd had the chance to on several occasions now, and yet, the nefarious Doctor Reid continued to exist. _Maybe you don't want him gone,_ his mind offered, and he snorted in disgust at the idea. He wanted him gone. Like every other leech. The frown deepened. So, if that was the case, why did he not pursue Reid as aggressively as he did his other targets?

_You can't accept the fact that we are not enemies, can you?_

Geoffrey had to admit, even if just to himself, that Reid was different. He tried to tell himself that maybe it was because he was newly turned, and he still held some vestiges of his former humanity. In time, the monster would show its true colours. Never trust the beast, he'd been taught. But part of him wanted to - at least in this particular case. He did smirk a little as he walked, thinking about the arrogant bravado he'd shouted as Reid had left him. Promises to kill him. The next time. There was a brief flash of teeth. He was looking forward to the next time. Before he could ruminate much more on that tantalizing thought, a feral shriek echoed off the damp stone, practically on top of them. "Damn it," Geoffrey murmured, cursing his distraction for allowing him to drop his guard. "We need to-"

Before he could finish the thought, two skals came out of an access tunnel, right on top of them, one of them tearing the throat out of a new cadet and killing him instantly. "By God! Randall!" He raised his arm and fired two crossbow bolts, hitting the one in the neck. The resulting shriek was higher pitched and even more spine shattering than usual, and with a bark of, "Pull back!" he reached for two more bolts to reload. In seconds, a melee had erupted. The other new cadet, underexperienced and overeager, charged in with torch and truncheon, only to be killed within seconds. The remaining four, between them, kept the one skal occupied. "The other one's mine!" Geoffrey said as he stepped forward, drawing his sword.

Though he would never tell Bates, his captain had been correct. Geoffrey _wasn't_ in prime condition for a fight. He grunted in pain when he felt claws tear into his forearm, and he staggered back a few paces, finding the sword obnoxiously heavy in his hand. He raised his crossbow and fired, though it took four rounds for him to drop the beast. And when the dust had settled, he was exhausted. "Not far. Let's go."

"What about Randall and Stokes?" one of the men asked.

"Leave them. Too many leeches around. Besides, it's prickish of me to say, but given the conditions in London, chances are the bodies would wind up back here again anyway. Or dumped in the river by the docks." That was something Geoffrey hated. He hated every time he lost one of his own. And he hated that those good men weren't able to have a proper burial. "Come on. They run in packs, and we're almost out of ammunition."

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the iron gates that would take them back up to the streets. As they drew near, they heard a single skal scrabbling along in the corridor behind them. "Go!" he commanded to the others as he unslung his rifle. "I've got this one. I'll be right behind you." He heard the grating swing closed and he raised the weapon and took aim, a smug smirk passing across his face when he shot it between the eyes and it dropped. Turning around, he found himself face to face with another skal. He'd not heard it approach. He raised his arm to fire, only to groan in pain when he felt clawed hands grab his shoulders and sharp teeth pierce the flesh of his throat. Somehow, he managed to dislodge the creature, and send it back a few steps with his last two bolts. He raised his rifle, cursing lowly when he realized he'd just used his last round, and as a last resort, he went for his sword. He swung it clumsily, it clattering to the ground when the skal swiped at him, sending him reeling into the wall behind him. Geoffrey momentarily saw stars, and he dropped to a knee, barely keeping his eyes open as he contemplated his next move. He could think of just one. Reaching behind him, he pulled the service revolver he carried. With an unsteady hand, he attempted to focus, firing off five of the six rounds. He knew one had struck the wall - he heard the ricochet. How many hit the skal, he had no idea, but he had one shot left, and it was still coming. The way he saw it, he had two options. The first was to wait until it was practically upon him and then point-blank shoot it in the face. The second was to use it on himself.

_"Even if you never use it, even if you think you'll never need it, always carry a handgun, my boy," Carl Eldrich taught. "Not necessarily to fight the leeches - even if it'll do in a pinch. No, my son, if it comes to a point where the bloody leech is going to turn you, you take that gun and use it on yourself, so you don't come back like it."_

Geoffrey saw his hand shaking badly now, and his eyes shifted to the skal. He couldn't guarantee in that moment he'd hit a moving target, even point-blank. "Your kind are the bloody worst," he murmured as he held the gun up to his temple. "To hell with all of you." For the first time in years, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry..." His finger twitched, though at the last second, he extended his arm, and with a silent prayer to God, pulled the trigger. He heard a bone chilling shriek, heavy eyelids sliding open long enough to see the skal's head explode in a shower of blood. A coughing chuckle escaped him, and he murmured aloud, "Shit thing is, I'm going to die here, and no one'll know about that shot."

The last thing he remembered before he fell to unconsciousness was a pair of icy blue eyes looking at his face with some measure of concern, and a velvet baritone against his ear whispering, "You're not going to die here. And I'll know."


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Nothing beyond fixing typos and what should have been an obvious grammar thing. (This will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> Apologies to those of you who like Edgar Swansea. I...just can't seem to trust the man. It's not that I hate him, but he just does so many skeevy things during the game thinking that he's doing good...Ethics, man. Ethics! And, after he's turned, if one has followed that path, I find his attitudes and perceptions very unlikable... which is too bad, because at the start, I really did want to like him. (Lovable grandpa. LOL ) But, a lot of his dialogue I've based on the things he spoke about during that time, so take it as you will... I will deal with him later. Bwahaha... ♥
> 
> Some of the theories and so forth are purely made up by me, or borrowed from existing lore. If my headcanon differs from yours, that's cool - I'm always curious to hear new ideas. But be nice, yeah? We're all just trying to have fun in this great big sandbox with a couple of delicious men, m'kay? ♥

Jonathan stood on the roof of the two-storey warehouse, watching silently as three squads of Priwen soldiers made their way through the darkened alley below. One broke off from the rest to patrol along the quay, while the other two turned off at the end of the road, one heading for the eastern entrance to the sewers, the other to the pumping station to the west. The western group interested him the most, and with a quick puff of black smoke, he moved himself to a better vantage point on the ground. Briefly, he glanced up to his previous position - it had to be nearly fifty feet that time. The jumps were getting easier with every passing night, it seemed.

His amazement was short lived as the sound of voices drew him back to the moment. He hid himself in the shadows and listened as McCullum and another man he recognized as one of Priwen's sergeants discussed their plan. A few moments later the sergeant and another man took off up a set of stone steps to secure a lookout position along the pumping station's colonnade while the remainder of the group headed below. Jonathan's eyes narrowed in concern as he watched the retreating back. He didn't need to be a doctor to see that McCullum wasn't in peak condition right then. After their encounter, he'd seen the injuries the man bore, knew how hard he'd hit him and could imagine the sort of damage he'd done. In hindsight, after Jonathan had read the reports from the duty nurse, he'd wondered if he should have at least stabilized McCullum instead of leaving him to find his own way home. She'd indicated that the man had looked pretty rough as he'd left the hospital, but had insisted on going. She'd observed blood seeping through his vest, and had suggested he be seen by a doctor, but McCullum had brusquely refused, citing that he'd had _'more than enough of damned doctors'_ for one night.

Now, after seeing the man in front of him with his own eyes, he was more convinced than ever that he'd erred in his decision to abandon him. His vampire senses showed him that while he was in good general health overall, all was not quite right with the man, physically speaking. But more troublesome was the fact that McCullum seemed rather oblivious to his presence, and that preoccupation was something Jonathan had _never_ observed in the man. No, McCullum was a man of focus: exceptionally intuitive, situationally aware, and deviously clever - and probably a more dangerous hunter than him. And Jonathan would admit to somewhat of a quiet fascination with the stoic brunet. It had begun as a simple curiosity when he'd first met him in Edgar's office. Unlike most humans, McCullum's mind was quiet. No... _guarded_. Though as they'd stared each other down, he'd sensed but a single word from him:

_Intriguing..._

His interest had been piqued further when McCullum had called him out in the theatre. For a man so committed - almost fanatically so - to his cause to exterminate all vampires, Jonathan had been more than a little surprised that he'd been allowed to simply walk out. He was certain that it was more than simple intrigue that had stayed the hunter's hand. In that moment, Geoffrey McCullum shifted from the realm of 'interesting, but troublesome' to 'inconvenient obsession' as Jonathan's thirst for answers drove him to understand this contrary behaviour. The problem was, McCullum was rarely by himself; he was a very involved leader and hunted nightly with his men. And, on the few occasions when he might be, it wasn't as if Jonathan could simply stroll up to him and have a chat; were he to do so, he suspected he'd quickly find himself on the business end of McCullum's sword. Not that the likelihood of such a bloody outcome deterred Jonathan too much.

He still remembered the first night he'd decided to follow McCullum, hoping he could figure out what sort of game the man was playing. It was a few nights after the Doris Fletcher incident, and despite Jonathan thinking himself particularly stealthy as he'd manipulated the shadows around him, he'd quickly found himself sighted in the crosshairs of the hunter's rifle. He'd been shocked that he'd been spotted so easily, and he still remembered the smug smirk that had tugged the other's lips up just slightly. Despite his being in somewhat of a questionable predicament, Jonathan hadn't been able to stop himself from thinking that the look truly did suit the brunet, all arrogance and swagger. He waited for what seemed like an age for McCullum to take the shot, but instead, the hunter lowered his rifle and pointed his index and middle fingers at his own eyes, suggesting that he was watching. And then, as he had before, he turned his back on the other, again letting Jonathan go without incident. After that, Jonathan took it as his personal mission to try to beat McCullum at his own game. Over the next week, they crossed paths a few more times, and no matter how Jonathan approached, no matter what McCullum was doing, he was always spotted, and he was always released without further dialogue. He knew McCullum was toying with him the way a cat did with a mouse, and he struggled desperately to figure out his motives - especially since the Guard of Priwen seemed rather ruthless in how it dealt with the undead, their orders to show no mercy having come from McCullum himself.

Jonathan supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when McCullum finally confronted him in the hospital. After all, McCullum was a hunter, and he was a vampire; the script would have to be played out eventually. The fight between them had been feral and savage. Jonathan could still remember the searing pain from the lights, the bite of the steel as the sword had pierced his flesh. Jonathan had been left with little choice but to defend himself, and he'd fought back, looking to incapacitate, not annihilate. Truly speaking, he did not want to kill the man, but McCullum didn't seem prepared to offer the same leniency. If Jonathan lost, he couldn't say with absolute certainty whether McCullum would kill him on the spot, or torture him and then kill him later, but from the anger he could feel radiating off the other, he knew death was the end goal. For whatever reason, their previous exchanges seemed to be forgotten, and all that remained was hate-fuelled rage.

Given their respective personalities, Jonathan had known it would be foolish to expect a resolution without _any_ bloodshed, but he vowed he would still try for a non-lethal approach, unless he was left with no other choice. Despite McCullum's misguided anger and general standoffishness, Jonathan knew he was intelligent, and did believe him capable of having a civil conversation - if only he could get through that thick skull long enough to convince him to use his words, not weapons. As it was, the fight had been difficult. For a human, McCullum was strong, and he was definitely skilled with a blade. The addition of Arthur's blood had made him quite formidable, and it had taken all he'd had for Jonathan to stop him. He'd stood, claws ready, when McCullum had taken a knee, though when the brunet stayed down, Jonathan had relaxed his posture. He could see various bruises starting to blossom on McCullum's face even as his own wounds were already starting to heal. He'd been glad that the fight had ended as it had. Jonathan had meant it when he'd said that he truly did not want McCullum as an enemy. It frustrated him to no end that the other was so infuriatingly stubborn and set in his beliefs to even consciously contemplate the possibility that they could be friends and work together on their common goal. He'd tried one last time to make him see reason, that it would be for both their benefit to collaborate, and it angered him that McCullum would sooner die than hear him out.

The last of his patience gone, Jonathan had roughly grabbed McCullum's chin, thinking he'd happily grant the request. It would have been his pleasure - literally - to tear out the man's throat and devour every last drop of blood in his body. He remembered the intense thirst he'd felt as he'd stood over him. He remembered the feel of McCullum's skin against his hand, warm and rough with stubble, the way his pulse had beat - slightly elevated, but strong, steady and even, and he'd let his thumb caress lightly along the line of his cheek. Jonathan desired him greatly right then, his need almost painful as he looked into the defeated and somewhat confused blue eyes. McCullum's gaze focused on his own then, and whether it was their proximity, or that McCullum's mental shields had been compromised, he heard one thing clearly over the cacophony of Priwen rhetoric and the other conflicted thoughts that ran rampant in his mind:

_Not friends...but what if...no!..it couldn't be...is it…something else?.._

Jonathan had felt a warmth course through him with those words. He hungered deeply for this man, and not just in terms of sustenance. The yearning he felt went beyond that, and Jonathan quickly realized that killing him would leave his craving largely unfulfilled. His grasp tightened for a moment as the scent of blood called to him, vibrant and alive. With a subvocal growl, he closed his eyes, swallowing down his thirst, and then he'd released him, discreetly licking his thumb of a bit of blood as he'd stepped back.

Jonathan still got shivers whenever he'd think about it, and even now he could remember the taste he'd stolen, and still felt that it had been a damnable tease! Pulling himself from his musing, he glanced up and watched the two on lookout pace the colonnade for a few minutes, and when nothing seemed to be happening, meet up again in the middle to have a smoke. With a silent chuckle, he figured he'd leave the man to his hunt and seek him out another night, but the shriek of a skal from the sewers followed by the sound of gunfire stayed him. He watched the two lookouts shift to an alert posture and take up a position on the steps. Rifles unslung, they aimed towards the gate, waiting. Normally, Jonathan would have preferred to distance himself from a squad of trigger-happy Priwen guards than engage them, and from his own experience, he did believe that McCullum was more than capable of taking care of himself in a fight, but he felt something ominous in the air. He would stay long enough to see McCullum safely out of the sewers, and then he would discreetly take his leave.

He moved behind some shipping crates, and drawing on his senses, he had a proper look around. At the far end of the quay, he could faintly make out the squad positioned there, though from their movements, he knew they had not yet been alerted to anything happening in the sewers. He could not see the eastern squad; he would need to be on guard for them. He heard more gunfire, and more skals, both still rather deep underground. He felt a rat brush against his ankle, and he quickly reached down and snatched it up. Eyes narrowed, he drew back his upper lip in a sneer as he watched it struggle in his grasp, and then, with a low, dark growl, he sank his fangs into the furry body. The blood was warm and thick, and rather unappetizing in his opinion. Still, it was enough to take the edge off his hunger, even if it didn't satisfy it completely. With a moue of disgust, he licked his upper lip and tossed the corpse away from him. He hated that he'd come to subsist primarily on rats, but a body had to eat, and for as vile as it was, he felt it was better than feeding on an innocent. He'd heard stories of Ekon who could take from a host without killing it, but that required a level of control he did not yet possess. When the thirst consumed him, it was essentially an all or nothing thing, and it scared him to think about what he might become if he were to give in to it completely - especially when he thought about how manically he could feed off of something as repellent as a sewer rat. He'd been debating 'seconds', when a shout from the gate drew his attention. Moments later, four men came out of the sewer, McCullum not among them.

"What happened?" Sergeant Millar asked as he jumped over the railing to the ground and ran to their position.

"We lost Randall and Stokes - fucking leech ambushed us!"

"Where's McCullum?"

"Fighting another one of those skal bastards. We're out of ammo, he told us to go!"

"Bloody hell!" Millar sneered, and then drew back a fist and delivered a sharp right hook to the recruit's jaw. "We _never_ leave the living behind!" he snapped, and then caught the lapels of the young man, shaking him. "We don't abandon McCullum," he added, his voice stern and laced with concern. "You! Tobias!" He pointed to the cadet that had been on watch with him. "Find Murphy's unit on the quay, pull them back to help us find him. Take this arsehole with you; let _him_ tell Murphy what happened." When they'd run off, Millar turned to the remaining three. "Right. Where'd you leave him?"

Jonathan never heard the answer. As soon as he'd heard McCullum was still below, he'd taken advantage of the chaos among the guards to jump himself behind their position and use the shadows to hide against the brickwork of the pumping station. He knew he couldn't very well just stroll through the front entrance with them all standing there, but he managed to locate a secondary service entrance on the side of the building. After twisting the lock off the hasp, he pushed the door open and quickly made his way underground. He could hear the skal, but it was the smell of McCullum's blood that guided him. After having tasted it, Jonathan picked it out easily from among all the others, and he headed towards it. The sound of the revolver echoing in the tunnels hurt his ears, and he picked up his pace, not sure if he'd heard five or six rounds with all the noise. _Five_ , he thought when he saw McCullum sprawled against a wall, the revolver pointed at his head. "Don't!" Jonathan shouted, his voice enough to distract the skal from completing its attack and turn towards him. He heard the sixth shot, and with an enraged growl, Jonathan created a blood spear, his attack killing the skal in a spectacular, albeit gruesome, fashion. The skal sagged to its knees and slumped over, though before the body had really even hit the ground, Jonathan was at McCullum's side, his brow furrowed in concern as he looked the man over. He was alive. But the wound on his throat was serious, and he'd lost a lot of blood. For a moment, the intoxicating smell of it overwhelmed him, the temptation so strong it physically pained him to resist. He loosed a frustrated growl as he turned his face away, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut as he fought to force down that primal want for blood. For McCullum. He would not let the man die here, in this place, and he told him as much, a bit of relief following when he realized that the brunet was unconscious. That did make things infinitely easier.

There was not a lot he could do for him there, though Jonathan did take the time to bandage the wound as best he could. He was glad that the bite had been lower, confined largely to the muscle, as it had kept him from bleeding out completely. As it was, McCullum's prognosis did not look good. But Jonathan would take that over dead. Thankfully, Pembroke Hospital was not far, but time was now critical. He needed to get his patient back so he could start a transfusion, and then tend to the bite. He could hear Millar and the others moving around in the sewers now, and it would not be long before they were on his position. "Come along, Geoffrey. We need to go now," he said conversationally as he grasped the man's wrist and muscled him to his feet, putting him over his one shoulder like a granary sack. "My apologies for entrusting you to my care. Believe me, I shall make sure to feel appropriately reviled when I'm treating you." As an afterthought, Jonathan stooped and picked up McCullum's sword. He remembered what the guard had said outside, about them being out of ammunition, and he figured that at least with the blade, he would be armed, and could defend them from attack if need be.

By the time Jonathan reached the exit, Millar and his group had found the scene. He heard the sergeant bark at them to fan out and look for McCullum, and as quietly as he could, he slipped outside. Sticking to the shadows, he avoided detection from the guards out front, who thankfully seemed more interested in what might be coming _out_ of the sewers than what could be passing by on the docks. As he'd hurried towards the hospital, he realized the truly sorry state that London was in. Only in the midst of chaos was it possible for a man to walk down the street in the middle of the night, an unconscious man over one shoulder and a sword resting against the other, completely covered in blood, and have no one so much as raise an eyebrow – not that he was complaining in that moment. He really wasn't in the mood for a lot of questions and conversation.

He breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw the lights from Pembroke, and he headed inside. When the duty nurse saw him, she rushed over to help. "This man needs immediate attention. I will be bringing him to Operating Room Four. We need to blood type him, and then get me three units of blood from whatever healthy compatible patients you can find - meaning, no one who is here being treated for flu. Then, have someone find Doctor Swansea. I urgently need to speak with him."

The nurse looked at Jonathan curiously for a moment, taking note of the sword and McCullum's crossbow, but rather than ask, she simply nodded. "Yes, Doctor." She followed Jonathan to the room, wordlessly taking the weapons when they were handed to her and setting them off to the side while Jonathan laid the brunet on the gurney. Working quickly, Jonathan drew a sample and began testing it. A hint of a smile graced his features when he saw the results. "AB," he said. "That should save us some time. Nurse, he can receive from anyone; do not bother with typing, just make sure they are healthy. I will take the first one as soon as you have it. Quickly now - and don't forget to add sodium citrate to the bottles."

"Yes, Doctor."

While the nurse was gone, Jonathan pulled over an IV stand and began setting it up with tubing and needles. Satisfied, he removed McCullum's shirt and coat so that he could begin cleaning the wound. His brows went up when he saw the mosaic of bruises and scars that traversed his flesh. Jonathan supposed that made sense; even if McCullum was a skilled fighter, he was still human and still could be hurt - and he didn't have the luxury of fast healing. He held his hand over a series of four faint parallel gashes that curved around his right flank, obviously the work of claws. The repair had been done well, the scarring minimal, and Jonathan was curious as to who had done the work. He moved his hand as if to touch the marks, but stopped himself, embarrassedly drawing his hand back and turning his attention to the medicine cupboard. He poured an aliquot of carbolic acid into a kidney dish and picked up a stack of linen strips and a set of forceps. He dabbed at the blood, watching the way the two fluids mixed and turned the gauze varying shades of pink and red. The antiseptic did little to mask the smell of blood, the scent so strong it made him dizzy. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that he was a doctor first and not a vampire, and did his damnedest to ignore his thirst as he set the forceps aside and began to painstakingly suture the wound, keeping the stitches as tiny and uniform as possible. He paused long enough to start the first bottle of the transfusion when the nurse returned, his pale gaze lingering for several long moments on the crimson fluid in the bottle, and then following the path through the tube to the vein in McCullum's arm before flicking back up to the man's throat. He saw McCullum's Adam's apple move, and he also swallowed on reflex. Temptation was a cruel bastard, and as he sat in that blood saturated room, he wished he'd fed more that night. Focusing solely on his work to distract his mind, he picked up his needle and some more gauze, and resumed his stitching. At some point while he was working, Edgar came into the room and silently watched him. Only when the last suture had been put in place and the third bottle of blood hung did Edgar speak.

"That's Geoffrey McCullum," he said.

Jonathan paused from where he'd been applying a sterile dressing to the wound, icy blue shifting to glance sidelong at the other. "I'm well aware of who it is, Edgar," he said before returning to his work.

"Well, why on earth would you bring him _here_ of all places, Jonathan?"

Jonathan again paused, though his gaze remained on McCullum's face. It bothered him to see him so still and so pale. "Is this no longer a hospital, Edgar? The man was wounded. Severely, I might add. He needed urgent care."

Edgar snorted. "Yes, I can see that. Hunting vampires, no doubt." He took a few steps closer. "In my experience, I've found that people who go looking for trouble usually find it. Frankly, it's incredible that he's made it this long, occupational hazard and all. But all things considered Jonathan, I'm surprised you didn't just leave him where you found him and carry on your way. That man is dangerous - especially to _our kind_ \- and to see him gone, well…if I may speak candidly, it would certainly make things a lot more comfortable for us going forward."

This time, Jonathan did turn around to face the older man. "And what of your Hippocratic Oath, Edgar? Or have you forgotten it? It does not matter _what_ background he comes from. If he is injured and in need of care, we have a duty to tend to him. I will not simply leave a man to die for the sake of convenience. I'm surprised to hear such a thing from you."

"I remember my Oath just fine. I just tend to view the world just a little bit differently in recent days. And I would suggest you start doing the same. I should not need to tell you that vampire hunters are a threat to our continued existence, and the less of them there are, the better it is. As for the mundane task of healing the sick, that's a job best left to mortal doctors. Who better to care for the living than the living? We are so much more than they are now. Think of the research we could conduct! Think of the discoveries we could make! For the betterment of all mankind!"

"So you've said." A crooked smirk briefly passed across Jonathan's face. "Perhaps we should solve this epidemic before you start creating more 'improvements' for humanity, Edgar," he said.

Edgar pursed his lips slightly, not overly pleased by the jibe. "I did assure you that I would not experiment on mortals, did I not?"

"You did," Jonathan said simply, though given Edgar's newfound exuberance and past performance, he didn't hold much faith that the man would keep his word. Changing the subject, he said, "I would like to keep McCullum in here for tonight. His condition is fragile, and I would prefer not to move him until he's stabilized."

"I would prefer we send him back to his war dogs and let them look after him!"

"Edgar!"

"Jonathan, you know as well as I do that we simply do not have the beds! Look at how many good, honest, _decent_ people we turn away because we cannot accommodate them!"

"Then I will let him have my bed. I can tend to him in my room."

"That is highly irregular! Besides, how do you think people would feel knowing that the leader of Priwen is resting under this roof? The next thing you know, their bloody patrols will be stationed outside the gate."

Jonathan arched a brow. "They would probably feel more secure about that than knowing they were being tended to by vampire doctors, wouldn't you agree?"

Edgar huffed in frustration. "But he was bitten. By a bloody _skal_! What if -" He lowered his voice. "What if he were to become infected? He's in the doctor's wing. It could be catastrophic!"

"That won't happen. I will assume full responsibility for him while he is in our care."

"And what will you do with him during the day, hm? What if he decides to kill you while you are resting? You are completely vulnerable!"

"He won't. Though if he did, then I suppose my next step would be to join the Choir Invisible." He smirked, though when the other remained unamused, Jonathan narrowed his gaze. "I will not yield on this one. I gave you my terms, Edgar. Either we both stay, or we both go."

"You would really leave over this? Over _him_? He has treated you deplorably!" 

"He is my patient. And he requires care."

"You're mad." When Jonathan didn't answer him, Edgar grew increasingly uncomfortable under the weight of that icy blue stare until finally, he tsked impatiently. "The hunted, protecting the hunter! Now I have heard everything." Jonathan again remained stoically silent, and Edgar's jaw clenched. "Very well, Doctor Reid," he said finally. " _If_ he survives through the night, the woodsman is yours. But if anything happens, it will rest on your head. I just pray you'll still have it once that animal wakes up."

"Don't worry Doctor Swansea," Jonathan replied brightly to the departing man as he rang for the duty nurse to bring some wash rags and a clean gown to put McCullum in. "I may keep them hidden, but my claws are plenty sharp."


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Nothing beyond fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> As promised. I would love to get these to you sooner, but work has this nasty habit of interfering with fun.
> 
> So...in this chapter, they speak. To each other. And continue to be in an abyss of denial. Maybe fun times for you, but headbangingly frustrating for me. ♥
> 
> Again, I make up a lot of my own headcanon, and draw on the plethora of stories I've read. I hope you enjoy the direction I've gone. Despite wanting to strangle both of them sometimes, I really am having fun with this fandom, and this story in particular.
> 
> Edgar is...not all that attached to his humanity, or his Oath, I don't believe. It's kind of disturbing to ponder the things he could get up to if he survives into the future and gets his hands on better tech than 1919 standard. Pretty sure a lot of his 'experiments' won't really be for the betterment of mankind. And that's my interpretation of him. And I'm a bit mad at him for making me feel that way about him.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter, my lovelies. And thank you all for the support you've given this story. You make me smile, and I love you all. ♥

_You're not going to die here_ …

Geoffrey groaned lowly, the echoed words in his mind accompanied by the mother of all headaches. "Fuck, Reid, get out of my goddamned head…" he grumbled irritably as he raised a hand to scrub over his forehead, only to pause, eyes snapping open when he felt a bit of resistance to his movement. The sudden influx of light, scant as it was, caused his head to pound even harder, and he grunted his annoyance. Once he'd had a few moments to adjust, he willed his gaze to focus on his arm, a frown borne of both curiosity and confusion wrinkling his brow when he saw a needle sticking out of his right forearm, and a rubber tube lashed down with some leather strapping. He cocked his head to the side slightly as he reached out to touch it, a similar pull drawing his attention to his other arm. This time, his brows went up when he saw a similar apparatus in place there on the left, the rubber tube in this case filled with something dark and running over the edge of the bed to somewhere behind him. "What the complete hell?" He tried to sit up, but the movement resulted in a sharp stab of pain at his groin that had him immediately lay back down. For the time being, he gave up on getting out of bed in favour of trying to undo the straps on his left arm.

"Ah, I'll ask you to not touch that one, please. It was difficult getting it to sit properly, and I'd rather not fight with it again now that it's working efficiently," Jonathan said as he placed a gentle hand over the transfusion line.

Geoffrey found the touch of cool fingers against his skin heavenly, though his eyes went wide when the pleasant voice registered and he realized that it was _Jonathan_ next to him. "Leech!" he said as he roughly drew his hand back, and his gaze frantically darted around, searching for any sort of weapon. "Get off me, or I swear to the Lord Almighty I'll kill you."

"Geoffrey, there's no need for alarm. Please calm down and I'll explain everything." When the brunet continued to ignore him, going so far as to nearly yank over the IV pole as he tried to shove him away, Jonathan clenched his jaw. Eyes narrowing, he carefully, but insistently, grabbed his shoulders, drawing on his vampire strength to hold him still for a moment - not that Geoffrey was really in any position to put up much of a fight. Voice stern, he said, "You need to calm down _right now_ , or I'm going to sedate you - which I'm sure you don't want - and then restrain you - which I _know_ you won't like. The way you're struggling, you're liable to tear your stitches, and then you'll really be in a predicament." He squeezed a little bit tighter, letting Geoffrey know that it wasn't an empty threat. After a few seconds, Geoffrey stilled, and he released his hold, a hint of a smirk passing across his face when he saw the murderous glare he had earned for his trouble. "That's better. Now, let's see about removing that intravenous line now, hm?" He waited a few beats, and when he was met with no resistance or argument, he moved to the right side of the bed. He reached for the first binding, only to glance up in surprise when the limb was hastily pulled away.

"Don't you fucking touch me, beast!"

He smirked inwardly, not at all surprised by the reflexive obstinance. "I thought you wanted it out? I will _happily_ remove it now that you're awake." He smiled a little when Geoffrey hesitantly put his arm back down on the blanket with a petulant huff. "Thank you."

Geoffrey watched as the leather straps were unbuckled. "What is all this then? Some sort of nefarious experiment?"

"Hardly." Jonathan glanced up. "I told you before, I am trying to _stop_ the epidemic, not add to it." He turned his attention back to Geoffrey's arm. " _This_ is a simple solution of salts and sugar, and is what has been keeping you hydrated during your time here. You were injured and needed treatment. As a doctor, I swore an Oath that I would in good faith heal anyone who needed my help." He pulled the needle free, pressing down on a piece of gauze with his thumb at the injection site. He offered a pert smile. "That means even you, McCullum."

Geoffrey studied Jonathan's profile while the man worked, if only to distract himself from the strange sensations he felt in his arm as the needle was removed. "So, if it wasn't for your _Oath_ , you'd have just left me be?" Jonathan looked somewhat uncomfortable by the question, and when he didn't answer him, and even went so far as to shift his gaze away, Geoffrey's eyes narrowed. "Thought as much. Obligation, disguised as altruism. You're not as noble as you'd have me believe, Reid. My own people can tend to me. Priwen looks after its own. Patch me up, and I'll be on my way, yeah?"

"Do you truly not remember what happened?" Jonathan asked quietly as he turned to face Geoffrey. "Your people would not have been able to do anything for you. I was your best hope - your _only_ hope! Even now, you may be awake, but you're hardly in any condition to leave. You were bitten badly. You lost a lot of blood. You had a concussion. For Christ's sake, McCullum, you're lucky you're not dead!" The last was delivered with a bit more heat than Jonathan had intended.

"But I'm not dead, am I?" Geoffrey replied with no small amount of smugness. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, beast. You can't. Your kind are the scourge that poisons this land. But Priwen will save it. We do not fear the darkness or the evil within it. The light of the righteous protects us. Besides, I am no coward, and won't run from a fight. If I die defending England from monsters like you, so be it."

Jonathan snorted softly. "You sound like one of your leaflets." He met the angry blue gaze, his own expression one of frustrated annoyance and concern. "No, you're not a coward. But you're a noble, misguided fool. You're so conditioned by your own rhetoric that you can't accept that, just maybe, there might be exceptions to your antiquated rules, that what you perceive isn't an accurate representation of what is! I don't understand why you'd so eagerly run into the arms of death." Jonathan's eyes clouded as he studied the ashen complexion, remembering how close Geoffrey had truly been to dying on the table, and again, he shifted his gaze to look away from him. "This fanatic hunt of yours is going to get you killed. The next time, I may not be around. It may be too late," he said quietly, feeling his cheeks warm. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that strongly about a patient. Granted, he cared about what happened to all of them, and wanted them to survive and be healthy, but this case was different. It was personal. It meant more to him somehow.

"Your arrogance precedes you, Doctor Reid. I'm sure your care runs so deep," Geoffrey replied snarkily, though when there was a quick puff of black smoke and Jonathan suddenly stood some distance away from him in the shadows, part of him regretted saying it. Despite the fact that their conversation was just barely this side of civil, in truth he had been enjoying the other's company, and he missed the proximity. "I didn't ask for your help." He didn't have the night vision Jonathan did, but he could tell that those eerie blue eyes were on him, watching him from the darkness. It was somewhat discomfiting, feeling the weight of that stare but not being able to clearly discern it.

"Well you have it regardless," Jonathan said finally. "Freely. Unconditionally. Because, believe it or not, I want to see you recover." Geoffrey stared hard at him, as if trying to penetrate the darkness, and over the derisive snort, Jonathan heard an unmistakable, _Prove it…_ , the words coming as a thought, not spoken. He sighed softly in resignation, holding the disbelieving gaze as he took a couple of deliberate steps towards the other, coming back into the light so he could be properly seen. "You've been unconscious and unresponsive for the past three days. You've been solely in my care this entire time, under observation."

"Three _days_?" Geoffrey moved his hand to touch his throat, and he could feel the bandages. "I-" He didn't know how he felt about that, really. A frown followed. "And during the day?"

Jonathan chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich. "I just told you, McCullum. You've been _solely_ in my care. If I didn't venture too far from your side, stayed to the shadows, the day was…difficult, but manageable."

Geoffrey felt an unexpected warmth spread through his body when he heard that, though before he could think too much about it, he caught the way Jonathan's brow arched slightly, followed by a subtle upturn of lips, and he frowned. The vampire was playing games with him. Clearing his throat, he silently studied Jonathan's face, giving it more than just a passing, cursory glance. The vampires he'd seen had always been pale, haunted looking things to begin with, and Reid wasn't much different. It made them fairly easy to pick out of a crowd once one knew what to look for, and even more so if they had particularly striking features - like pale, piercing blue eyes. But presently, Jonathan didn't have the typical look of a vampire trying to blend into normal society. He was almost chalk-white, and had the same style of dark circles under his eyes that a human would have when tired - only his seemed more pronounced for his pallor. He thought it made him look a bit more human, and maybe just a bit beautifully fragile, though as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he looked away, wondering just how hard he'd hit his head. This was a vile, ghastly beast. Not something to be admired for its strong jawline, or how it managed to cut a pleasing figure in a suit and overcoat. This time he snorted out loud as he pushed the thought away. "You look like hell," he said finally, the intended insult coming out sounding more like concern. Which, Geoffrey adamantly tried to convince himself, it most certainly wasn't.

Again, Jonathan chuckled. "And you should take a look at yourself in a mirror before you cast judgement, vampire hunter. Though, I'm glad to see you're feeling well enough to be insufferable. Your personality is a welcome distraction from the peaceful silence I've enjoyed." He saw Geoffrey smirk, the brunet's posture relaxing as he settled back against the pillow. He briefly toyed with the tip of a fang as he studied the comfortable position, a toothy grin following as a playful mood struck. "Since you're awake now, and seem to be stable, if you'd like, we can also remove your catheter?"

"Cath- _what_?" Geoffrey's face paled slightly, and remembering the pain he'd felt earlier when he'd tried to fully sit up, he peered under the blanket, his anger flaring again. "What other things have you done to me over the past three days while I've been out of it, you bloody leech?" he demanded crossly, his anger exacerbated by his embarrassment.

"Oh for God's sake, McCullum, I'm a doctor! It's a medical procedure I've performed countless dozens of times, not something I do for sport. If I hadn't, and had just left you, there could have been complications during the course of your treatment. But if it makes you feel better, I'll talk you through the process, and you can remove it yourself." He smirked darkly. "I'll even turn around, if you'd like. Though I didn't take you for the shy type." Jonathan knew it was childish of him, but he was starting to enjoy teasing the other, if only for the irritated reactions he earned for the trouble.

Geoffrey's eyes narrowed further, his lip curling upwards in the beginning of a sneer. "Shut it," he snapped. His jaw ticked, and then he muttered petulantly, "Just…get on with it, and get it out of me, yeah?" When Jonathan came to the bedside, Geoffrey staunchly refused to look at him, though he did instinctively tense when the blanket was drawn back. He tried not to think about cool fingers touching his skin as he lay there, completely vulnerable. Though he would give Jonathan credit; the man was utterly professional about it and kept things perfunctory and without unnecessary commentary. Regardless, when it was over, Geoffrey still felt somewhat humiliated. He wanted nothing more than to punch the smirk off Jonathan's face as compensation for the entire awkward experience. He knew it wouldn't change anything, but it would certainly appease his bruised ego - and then there would be just the sheer satisfaction he'd get from it. "Bastard," he muttered under his breath as he was finally able to properly sit up, and after adjusting the pillow, he watched as Jonathan carried the different pieces of equipment over to a laboratory sink to later be sterilized. Cocking his head to the side slightly in curiosity, he took a few moments to finally note his surroundings.

The room was quite large, cool, and rather dimly lit - save for the brighter spots cast by a couple of lamps. There was the bed he currently occupied, walled off with a couple of folding screens, and through the gap he could make out the shape of a workbench, and a laboratory bench with various pieces of equipment set on top: microscopes, reagent jars, and the like. He could see the tops of bookshelves, and though he couldn't see what was beyond, he could tell where the far wall met the ceiling. He frowned. "Where am I?" he asked finally.

"Pembroke Hospital," Jonathan replied.

"This doesn't look like any of the wards I've ever seen."

"No. This is my personal space, here in the hospital."

"I'm in a fucking leech lair!? What, to hide me away from prying eyes when you kill me, is that it?" Geoffrey asked as he sat up straight, posture tense. The whole situation felt more than a little surreal to him, and he was starting to wonder if he really was conscious and this wasn't just some sort of fucked up dream.

Jonathan huffed in exasperation as he again grasped his shoulders to keep him from moving about too much. "If my intention was to kill you, I'd have done it the other night when we met in the hospital tower. Besides, if I wanted you dead, I certainly wouldn't have bothered with trying to save your life. I assure you, you are perfectly safe in my care. Look how long you've been here already and you're still breathing. Imagine that."

Geoffrey's gaze narrowed slightly as he studied Jonathan's expression. The man made a truly valid point - he'd definitely had the shit kicked out of him by Jonathan that night, but he'd been left alive. A confused frown creased his brow, and he glanced away. _I want to believe you, but…_ His right hand curled into a tight fist. "We'll see. Forgive me if I don't feel entirely at ease. Being here, the situation…you."

Jonathan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So I still have not convinced you that I mean you no harm." It hurt, somewhat, that after everything that had happened, Geoffrey still could not drop his guard enough to afford him any measure of trust. He sighed, wondering if trust from this man was even possible. "You are not alive because of my Oath," he said quietly.

"Eh?" Geoffrey turned to look at him, obviously confused.

"You asked me earlier if I helped you only because of my Oath. I didn't."

"Then why-" Geoffrey cut himself off. "Ah. If you think I'm indebted to you, and I'll show leniency to you in the future, you're mistaken. I owe you nothing."

"No, you're right. You owe me nothing. But I didn't act to curry favour with you." Jonathan shook his head, not sure how to explain things. "I did it because I wanted to. I…don't know exactly _why_. But I did. It was important to me." He moved to a cabinet, and keeping his back to Geoffrey, he said, "I should change your dressing."

Geoffrey stole a quick glance in Jonathan's direction, his head spinning slightly from the maelstrom of conflicting thoughts that raced through his mind. He didn't want to be there, in Jonathan's company, and yet thus far, other than bitch about his situation, he'd made no serious move to leave. Jonathan had gone quiet, and Geoffrey was at a loss for what to say in response to such an admission. He knew there was more to it than what it appeared. Like many of the things Jonathan spoke about. It required parsing through what the raven had said _and_ what he hadn't said to find the truth. That evasiveness was as intriguing to him as it was maddening, and part of him wondered if he'd been like that when he'd been alive. He frowned. Jonathan Reid made his head hurt! He was starting to get restless as he listened to the other shuffle things around in the cabinet, and to break the awkward silence that had descended, he forced himself to look around the room again to find some safe topic of conversation. The suite was well appointed, but understated. Much like its resident. "I'm flattered, Reid," he offered finally, his attempt at levity feeling forced. "I didn't think anyone from Priwen would ever receive such deluxe treatment here at Pembroke. Never mind find himself in a private room in the doctors' wing."

Despite himself, Jonathan let out a soft snort of amusement, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Careful. Someone may overhear and think our acquaintanceship affords you some preferential treatment. Scandalous." He sobered as he came back to Geoffrey's bedside, dragging a mayo stand with him upon which sat a roll of gauze, ointment, scissors, antiseptic, forceps, and a kidney dish. "In truth, there wasn't anywhere else to put you _but_ here. I would not have left you in a common ward. Though I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that Doctor Swansea is… not happy with either of us right now. You for…being you, and me for insisting rather vocally that this was necessary."

Geoffrey _was_ pleased by that tidbit of information, and he smirked. He and Swansea had a lot of bad blood between them and rarely agreed on anything, so knowing that his mere presence in the hospital was vexing him so much was incredibly gratifying. Though he was surprised to learn that Jonathan had spoken up on his behalf, even going so far as to incur Swansea's ire in the process. For some reason, _that_ thought only made him smirk wider, but for a completely different reason. He turned his attention to the contents of the tray when Jonathan came back to him, and he gave him a curious look. "What's all that for?"

Taking up the scissors he leaned over to cut the knot off the bandage, only to hold up his hands in an open gesture when the other flinched away from him. "I need to remove the old dressing and clean the wound." He met the wary gaze. "You have to realize that this isn't the first time I've done so for you, yes?"

"Yeah. I figured." He glanced at the scissors, and then shifted his gaze back to Jonathan's face. He clenched his jaw for a moment before he tipped his head back slightly. "Well? Get on with it, then." Geoffrey's brow furrowed as Jonathan moved closer and he could feel the scissors slide beneath the bandage and carefully cut it away. He could feel Jonathan's cool fingers against his skin, and it caused him to break out in gooseflesh - not for any other reason than the touch gave him a chill, he mentally insisted. He was aware of Jonathan's face, very much in his personal space, and he tried not to think about how odd it was to know he was there, but not to hear or feel the movement of breath. He briefly screwed up his face when the dressing was removed and he could feel the pull of partially dried blood against the wound, but that was his only reaction. However, when he heard a low growl from Jonathan, his eyes rolled to their corners as he studied the raven with a modicum of caution. "Reid? You okay?"

Jonathan was overcome with a wave of hunger when the dressing was removed. Under the gauze, the smell of Geoffrey's blood was manageable. Muted. But now, as had happened every other time he'd changed Geoffrey's dressing, he was hit with the full power of it, and he craved it badly. He could hear the sound of his heartbeat pounding furiously in his ears, Geoffrey's beating slightly syncopated from his own, and he ached to taste him. He squeezed his eyes shut and glanced away from him, his upper lip drawn back slightly in a wanton sneer, the keen fangs pronounced. "I…just need a moment," he breathed, mortified that he'd not been able to control himself. He _knew_ what was going to happen, and _should have_ anticipated it better, but he hadn't, and he didn't need to look at Geoffrey to know that he'd just proven the man's point. That he was a beast. Forcing himself to get a grip, he blinked his eyes open, and without another word, returned to his task, hoping to complete it as expediently as possible to remove himself from temptation. Leaning away a little and using the forceps, he dipped a piece of linen in antiseptic and swabbed the wound, which appeared to be healing without signs of infection, and then put a generous amount of ointment on the bite, applied a new dressing, and then carefully secured it with a length of gauze bandage.

When Jonathan continued with his ministrations, Geoffrey's brow furrowed, and he stared unseeingly at his blanket, his thoughts racing. In all his years as a vampire hunter, he'd _never_ witnessed one of the monsters pull itself back from biting once it had locked on to a target. He supposed he'd always thought it possible that they _could_ , but he also believed them to be murdering beasts that just _wouldn't_. His contemplative frown deepened. This was just one more facet of Jonathan Reid that Geoffrey found fascinating. _Quit being stupid,_ he mentally chastised himself. This was a leech; something to be reviled, not something he wanted to learn about on a personal level. He shouldn't _care_ what Jonathan thought or felt or wanted. Or why he was so concerned about him. Or what the odd looks meant. He'd never been interested in getting to know any other leech he planned to kill, and he certainly wasn't interested in this case. Except that he was. And it frustrated him. So, when Jonathan finished what he was doing, Geoffrey gave in to his curiosity. "How do you do it, Reid?" he asked. "Help me understand this. Every night, you're here, in this hospital surrounded by blood. How do you not give in?"

Jonathan wiped his hands on a towel, and began to slowly push the mayo cart out of the way to clear the space. "I was - I _am_ a doctor. I swore an Oath to uphold human life. Not take it."

"Ha, a vampire doctor. My God, that truly is a fucking terrifying thing when you think about it." Geoffrey considered the answer, and then gave him a disbelieving look. "Though you expect me to believe it's that simple? Don't hand me that shit," he scoffed.

Jonathan's brows rooted for his hairline, surprised by the bluntness of the statement. Though he eventually offered a small, somewhat sheepish smile and a half shrug. "I'm not saying it's an easy decision. Or that I'm not constantly surrounded by temptations. The thirst I feel-" He cut himself off and glanced at Geoffrey. "It's…difficult to put into words. Blood is a constant craving. And no matter how much I have, it seems like it will never be enough. I always want more."

Geoffrey smirked derisively. "Ah! So you _do_ feed then."

"I never said that I didn't. But I've not fed on a human - other than the night I was reborn." He saw the dubious arch of a brow. "It's true. The skals that roam the streets, rats…they… _sustain_ me. But they do little to quench that undying thirst. Though truthfully, I don't know that human blood would satisfy it any better. I wonder if it might not make it worse." Jonathan gave the cart a slight nudge to let it roll towards his laboratory area, and he turned back to Geoffrey. "Being in this place, knowing blood is everywhere around me, it pains me greatly to resist it. I am like a drug addict, but this need is something I cannot give up. Not if I want to survive. And I do want to survive, despite what I am. I just need to be stronger than my addiction."

"Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?" Geoffrey asked, and he snorted contemptuously. "I do not pity your kind."

"I'm not trying to make you feel anything. You said you wanted to understand. I'm telling you. It's a matter of will, of not giving in to what is easiest. I choose to resist because I must hold on to my humanity at all costs. It's what keeps me from being the monster."

Geoffrey's expression was thoughtful. "You do realize you've given me a new weapon in my fight against vampires?" he said. "I no longer have to fight them to get information. I can just starve it out of them. If it's as painful as you say, I'm betting most would tell me what I want to know, or be driven mad. Simple. Effective. Minimal risk to my men."

Jonathan gave him a small smile. "What you choose to do with what I've told you is up to you. I just hope I never find myself in your torture chamber, McCullum. Kill me if you must, to complete your Great Hunt, but make it quick when you do."

Geoffrey frowned slightly. For as often as he swore he would kill the good doctor, he sometimes wondered if he actually would. He was starting to enjoy this strange back and forth with the other. "Got others to catch before you, Reid. But I know where to find you when I'm ready. Fair warning though; you better sleep with one eye open, vampire."

"I'll be waiting, vampire hunter," Jonathan replied, a small, private smile gracing his features. "Though you should rest now. If you're going to catch me, you'll need your strength."

"No, I need to go. If I've been here for three days, I need to get back to my men." He was sure Bates and Millar were shitting themselves frantic, wondering just what the hell they should be doing. He sat up and carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, only to narrow his eyes and scowl when Jonathan stopped him. "Let go of me, Reid."

"You're still weak. Still healing. I strongly advise against leaving."

"I don't care. It's not your call. I can 'heal' away from this place. My medic can look after the bandages, care for the wound." Geoffrey glanced around the immediate area, and spied a folded bundle sitting on a crate, a pair of boots tucked off beside it. He knew it was his clothing, ready and waiting for him - though the shirt was conspicuously absent. He surmised it had been ruined in the attack anyway, and for the short term to get home, he'd manage without.

Jonathan wanted to protest, but before he could say anything more, the door to his office opened, and in walked Edgar Swansea. Jonathan's gaze narrowed. He would make a point of keeping his office door locked in future; common mortal etiquette like knocking seemed to have been forgotten since the other's transformation. "Edgar," he greeted tersely. He took a discreet sniff when he smelled the scent of a different blood wafting through the air, and he studied the older man. There wasn't the underlying smell of antiseptic or medications on Edgar to suggest he'd been working. He'd been hunting. "Been busy? I've not seen you in a few days."

Edgar waved him off. "I could say the same about you, hiding away up here, tending to one patient when we have overflowing wards down below. I'm sorry, Jonathan, but you know as well as I do that we are barely scraping by when it comes to supplies and personnel - each night is a struggle. I understand your…passionate commitment to healing, but at this point, I shall no longer allow you to waste precious resources or time on a man who will likely never recover." He saw movement over Jonathan's shoulder, and pushed his glasses up when he saw Geoffrey in the process of putting on his trousers. "Oh. So you _are_ awake." He pursed his lips slightly, looking somewhat disappointed. "Well…bully for you, then. …I suppose."

Geoffrey was taken by surprise when he saw Edgar. He knew the state he'd been in a few nights ago, and to look at him now, looking the prime of health and rosy cheeked, it didn't take a genius to make the leap. "Another fucking leech," he muttered, a disgusted look settling on his face as he listened to the exchange between the two. Though, when Edgar turned his attention to him, an angry frown creased his brow, and he sneered coolly, "You'll find I'm a tough bastard to kill, Swansea. And God knows better…men…than you have tried it."

"It's a pity for all of us that nature didn't simply take its course, though I'm sure it's only a matter of time before you succumb to that eventuality. Well then, since you seem to be back on your feet, I'm sure you'll want to be on your way sooner rather than later, eh McCullum? Perhaps fortune will favour us, and some filthy skal will finish what it started."

Jonathan cast an apologetic look in Geoffrey's direction, then turned his attention back to the other doctor. "Edgar, despite your past differences, this man is still recovering and in my care! I have not released him yet!"

"Jonathan, you know as well as I do that this is in everyone's best interests." 

"No, Edgar. _Your_ best interests, perhaps."

"Listen to me, my dear boy. The staff knows that he's here, and talk amongst themselves. It's only a matter of time before the patients hear about it. And I would hate to see your reputation sullied by some… _unsavoury rumour_ that may circulate about you… _fraternizing_ with these thugs. You are a brilliant doctor, and are of such benefit to the good, _decent_ people downstairs. This man…I would not waste my time."

Jonathan felt an uncomfortable heat creep into his cheeks at the insinuation. "Edgar! I will not-"

"And you can both fuck right off!" Geoffrey said angrily over top of them both as he jammed his foot into his boot and turned to face them. "I already told you, Reid, I'm leaving. As for you, Swansea, don't you worry. Like I trust any of you Stole bastards to stay here a second longer. But don't get _too_ comfortable up here in your ivory tower, yeah? I'm sure you and I will be having a personal chat before too long. I promise you that."

"Oh! Well then!" Edgar said brightly as he clasped his hands together. "It would seem our little problem has solved itself! Brilliant!" He offered a falsely pleasant smile. "Your threats carry no weight here. I'll leave you to your packing then, McCullum. Always a pleasure to see you, and a greater one to see you leave."

Geoffrey glared daggers at Edgar, and Jonathan's expression was tight. "I would ask for a moment of your time at some point later this evening, Doctor Swansea?" Jonathan asked, his tone clipped.

"Of course. I shall be in my office. Whenever it's convenient, Doctor Reid." He gave a small bow of his head and turned on his heel, closing the door behind him.

"I do not share Edgar's beliefs," Jonathan said. "As I told you, he's not pleased-"

"Jesus Christ, you made Swansea a _vampire_?" Geoffrey hissed. "I was starting to think you might have some sense, but I see now it was just another trick. A way to get me to let my guard down. Now I've got _two_ leeches to worry about running around this hospital. And if you thought I was reluctant to stay here knowing there was one of you, like hell I'm staying when there are two!" He grasped the needle that was still in his left arm and roughly yanked it free.

When Jonathan realized what Geoffrey intended to do, his eyes went wide in horror - especially when he realized there was still some blood left in the transfusion bottle. "Geoffrey, don't-" He never got to finish his warning before the needle came free. No longer in Geoffrey's vein, the blood sprayed from the tube in a shallow arc, hitting the bedsheets and the floor, the last few ounces pouring out rapidly now that the bottle was no longer under vacuum. Meanwhile, Geoffrey's arm had started to bleed from the injection site, running in bright red rivulets down his forearm and over his fingers before dripping onto the floor.

Jonathan's upper lip drew back in a ravenous snarl, fangs bared as his hunger surged. Human blood of any sort was intoxicating, but the scent of Geoffrey's in particular was like a siren's song. Jonathan couldn't think clearly. In his lust for blood, he felt as if his vision had been obscured by a vermillion haze, and the smell of it beckoned to him with seductive allure. _I want this. I want…him…_ He took a single step towards Geoffrey before he caught himself, his jaw clenching tightly as his hands curled into defiant fists. It hurt. It _ached_ to resist, and Jonathan let out a pained growl as he turned away from Geoffrey and blindly made his way over to the mayo stand he'd used before. Fumbling along the top, he located the roll of gauze from before, and he grasped it in his hand. Taking a slow, deep breath, he tried to focus on the feel of the cloth, the softness of it, the sharp smell of antiseptic that lingered in the kidney dish, and after several breaths, he had enough control to open his eyes. Angrily, he rounded on Geoffrey and wordlessly stormed over to him.

Geoffrey really hadn't known what would happen when he pulled the needle free, though he hadn't expected _that_. Brows going up in surprise as blood poured from both the needle and from him, his gaze snapped over to Jonathan. He could see that the raven was caught in his bloodlust, and in that moment, he was mentally preparing himself to fight, and admittedly, a bit nervous. He tensed when Jonathan took a step towards him, and he raised his fists, his eyes narrowing in thought when nothing further happened. Jonathan had just stopped. Geoffrey watched silently. He could see that the other really was in pain, and though he did smirk as he remembered what he'd learned, and saw that there truly was a practical application to starving out a vampire, his expression was also one of concern - for Jonathan, not for himself. Before he could think too much on the paradox that was, Jonathan growled, and he instinctively took a half step back - though a confused frown furrowed his brow as the other turned and went off in search of something. Despite his past cockiness when dealing with Jonathan, his breath caught for a moment when he saw the furious expression. But, before he could do much more than shift his stance to a more defensive posture, Jonathan was _right there_.

In that moment, Jonathan didn't care that Geoffrey was weakened and really in no condition to fight. As he approached him, he put his hand in the middle of the brunet's chest, and walked him backwards until Geoffrey's back abruptly met the wall. Turning slightly, Jonathan pinned him there with his shoulder pressed against his chest as he roughly grabbed his left arm and began wrapping gauze around the puncture site. He tore the bandage with his teeth and after tying it off, he jerked the knot into position over the wound. He took a half step back, briefly surveyed the mess that had been made, and then scowled. "You stubborn, stupid, _prideful_ man!" he snarled as he tossed the roll of gauze onto the bed and then licked along his index and middle fingers, a stuttered shiver running through him from that briefest of tastes. "Why can you not see that I am only trying to help you?" he demanded in exasperation before unconsciously giving the pad of his thumb a brief suck to cleanse it.

Geoffrey watched with a sort of morbid fascination as Jonathan licked the blood from his hand, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he'd even done it. He clenched his jaw. He would admit that Jonathan was better than most at controlling himself, but he was still a vampire. "You're a leech."

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut in obvious frustration. "Damn it! Yes, I'm a vampire. But I'm also trying to be your friend, if only you would let me. Just because I am one, it does not preclude me from the other. They are not mutually exclusive things!"

Geoffrey was quiet for a few moments. "Do you know the story of the scorpion and the turtle, Reid?" he asked, and when Jonathan frowned in confusion and shook his head, a humourless smile curved his lips upward for a moment. "It's a good story. Appropriate. One day, a turtle and a scorpion met on the edge of a river. The scorpion asked the turtle to carry him across to the other side. The turtle refused, telling the scorpion that he was worried he'd get stung. The scorpion smiled and assured him he could trust him. After all, if he stung him, they'd both die. It made sense, so the turtle agreed, and halfway across, sure enough, the scorpion stung the turtle. As the turtle felt the poison paralyzing him, he asked the scorpion why he'd doomed them both, and the scorpion said, 'I can't help it. It's my nature. I'm a scorpion'." Geoffrey met Jonathan's eyes. "You can swear to me. Tell me I'm safe here. Maybe even get me to question my own beliefs for a moment. But at your core, you're still a beast. And one day, when my back is turned, you're going to bite. Because you _just. Can't. Help. Yourself._ " He glanced down at his bandaged arm, flicking over to Jonathan's blood-smeared hand before returning to the pale blue gaze. "You know I'm right."

"You're not," he whispered. _I'll make you see…_ Jonathan's jaw worked silently for a moment as he watched Geoffrey put on his vest, layering his trench coat over top. "At least allow your wound to heal and your body to regain its strength before you go out hunting again?" he asked, knowing that at this point, there was no way he was going to stop Geoffrey - short of holding him there against his will.

"I promise nothing."

"At least let me check on you in a few days, make sure you really are on the mend."

"I have my own people, Reid."

Jonathan nodded, his expression flat and somewhat despondent. "As you wish. But I'm going to ask you for just one thing. If you catch the flu, or if you even _think_ you have the flu, please come to me immediately." He excused himself long enough to retrieve Geoffrey's sword from the locked cupboard he'd been storing it in for safekeeping and handed it to him. "You'll be needing this, I'd imagine."

Geoffrey was surprised Jonathan had brought it with him, though he nodded his thanks as he took the sword, it feeling uncharacteristically heavy as he buckled it at his waist. He frowned in thought as he studied the raven, eyes narrowed assessingly. He had this sense that Jonathan wasn't telling him _everything_ about what was going on, and the sense of worry he got from the other left him feeling largely unsettled. He let his tongue run along his upper teeth, and then he nodded again. "No promises. …But I'll think about it."


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Nothing beyond fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. A couple of sentences were reordered in Chapter Three, but nothing significant to where it changes the context in any real way (in other words, not worth a reread). (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> So...in this chapter, we learn why it's important to listen to your doctor, even when you don't want to, and why it doesn't pay to be stubborn. Though asking Geoffrey not to be stubborn would be like asking the sun not to rise. ¬_¬
> 
> This story is slowly running away with me. Initially, I thought maybe five chapters... **insert hysterical laugh here** Between the two of them having conversations, and plot development, and world building, this is growing. I'm just happy that you're still enjoying it. Yes, it's a slow build happening between these two, but I think that's important. Especially for later on. ♥ At least now when they talk, it's not pure animosity. Yay, progress! \o/
> 
> Head canon continues to run its course... A lot of the game mechanics (ie: fighting, movements) don't directly translate into how this reads. Simply because I don't think it makes sense. Obviously, I'm not going to attack someone with a sword and a gun and 'kill them' to have them merely injured - my Jonathan maybe carries a pistol, but primarily fights with his vamp abilities. They're cool. He's got them. Let's use them, yeah? And I'm sorry, any balcony in that world is fair game, not just the ones I'm 'allowed' to jump to. Just saying! I get they have to limit us, the players, but sheesh! LOL
> 
> But a continued thank you and kisses to you all. Your support means the world. ♥♥
> 
> Right. Back to it for me. Enjoy!! ^_^

A week. It had been a week since Geoffrey McCullum had left the hospital despite Jonathan's advice not to. And during that time, Jonathan had not seen a trace of the man. Concerned, he'd silently stalked some of the roving patrols in the dead of the night, hoping to hear how he was doing, or maybe catch a glimpse of him. A few times he had heard McCullum's name mentioned, but it was only in reference to orders, or to hear complaints from the lower ranks about how he seemed even tetchier than usual. Jonathan had smirked at the time when he'd overheard that one, figuring he had likely had something to do with the man's mood. Still, despite knowing he was around, the lack of McCullum's physical presence on the streets was somewhat worrisome to Jonathan considering he'd always been such an outwardly visible leader. Hoping to ease his mind, Jonathan had gone so far as to skulk around the outside of some of the Priwen outposts he knew McCullum frequented, and even their main facility in Whitechapel. It had been a bit of a nerve-wracking experience for him. It wasn't like Priwen kept their locations secret, or that the outposts had been overly difficult to get to, but they were protected. Well protected. Up until now, Jonathan had really had no reason (or desire!) to go into a place that was heavily guarded by men who would sooner kill him on sight than listen to him - especially if he, a vampire, walked in and started asking for a moment of their leader's time. He'd kept his observations clandestine as he'd lurked along the upper balconies, trying to glean any sort of information from the soldiers inside. Unfortunately, all he'd managed to learn was that McCullum had pretty much locked himself in his room, sitting in his study to reread his mentor's past missives and directives, and to update some of the Guard's operating documentation - the information Jonathan had shared with him, most likely. It didn't give him much to go on in terms of how the brunet was faring health-wise, and he'd not been able to sense his presence beyond a simple shadow in the building, but at least he knew he was up and about.

He supposed that was something.

And then there was Edgar. That night, he'd spoken to his colleague, and had told him that he hadn't appreciated the way he'd treated his patient. Edgar had been somewhat apathetic about the conversation, reminding Jonathan that he had other goals and aspirations that went above conventional medicine because he was above the work of conventional doctors. Jonathan had rather pointedly told him that such an elitist attitude would quickly draw the attention of hunters, and Edgar had scoffed, citing that if any came calling, he would go underground for a period of time, possibly seek sanctuary with the Brotherhood, and then resurface when they'd forgotten about him. Jonathan believed that was a foolish line of thinking, but he'd left Edgar to his delusions, figuring the man had already moved past his mortal life and would learn for himself soon enough. And when that happened, Jonathan would not mourn. Especially since Jonathan was rather put out with him at present. The number of people coming for treatment had only seemed to grow over the last week, and Edgar was often conspicuously absent from his rounds, claiming to be far too busy with his experiments to be pulled aside for 'mundane triflings'. For as much grief as he'd gotten for not being an 'available resource', the double standard irritated him - especially since he _had_ been treating the sick. As far as Jonathan was concerned, Edgar was the Administrator in title only, since for the past few days Doctors Tippets and Ackroyd had been the ones signing off on the rosters anyway.

He'd gone down early that evening to relieve Doctor Strickland in the ward. Edgar had been on the roster to do first rounds, but he'd passed the shift on to the young doctor instead, which irritated Jonathan as much as it hadn't really surprised him. Jonathan had offered to do it instead so that Strickland could get a bit of rest. He'd just finished taking turnover from him when he heard a commotion in the front reception area. He glanced at Strickland, and when the younger doctor looked just as surprised as him, the two got up and hurried out front. Jonathan stopped dead in his tracks when he saw two Priwen guards arguing with the duty nurse, who was trying to hold them back, all the while scolding them that this was a hospital, not a bawdy house, and they should be respectful of the patients trying to rest. The guards were not listening to her, instead making their demands over her that they'd been sent for a doctor. "What the _hell_ is going on here?" Jonathan asked as he made his way over to them, his expression stern as he stood defiantly in front of them.

"Oi, you Reid?" the younger of the two asked as he pointed at him with a truncheon.

"Yeah, that's him. I've seen him before. Stand down, lad," the other said, and he put a hand on his sidearm as he turned to Jonathan. "We need you. It's important."

Jonathan arched a brow, and then hesitantly licked his lower lip as he cautiously watched the two guards. "There's no need for violence, I’m sure we can settle this amicably." He was being civil, but he certainly didn't appreciate Priwen's approach. Talking was a far more effective way to reach one's goals, and he wasn't about to be threatened, or commanded around like one of Priwen's war dogs. "I'm sure the Guard of Priwen believes everything it does is important, but I'm not going anywhere. Not with you. Not without knowing what is going on."

"McCullum wants a word."

Jonathan felt a surge of relief flood through him on hearing that, though he kept his expression neutral as he studied the two, wondering why he hadn't just come himself. After a moment, he gestured to Strickland and to the nurse that he had the situation in hand, and they could return to the patients. "Does he? So tell him to come in and see me, then. I'm far too busy, and rather disinclined, to be at his beck and call."

"It's not that simple."

Jonathan frowned. "He's been in this hospital before. How is it complicated?"

The younger guard shifted uncomfortably, and the older pressed his lips together for a moment. "He…you have to go to him."

Jonathan felt a sense of foreboding settle deep in his gut. "Do you really think I'm foolish enough to walk straight into the lion's den?" he asked with a dismissive laugh. "Does McCullum really think so little of me - Sergeant Millar?"

Millar's brows went up. "You know my name?"

Jonathan smirked and offered a half shrug. "You think Priwen is the only one capable of carrying out an investigation? I like to know who it is that's trying to kill me."

"This is fucking stupid! We're wasting time!" The younger guard in a combination of impatience and worry brandished his truncheon again and hissed, "Look, you bloody leech, he's dying! And the situation must be pretty shit if he's asking for someone like _you_ to come take a look at him, yeah? So let's go, or we'll make you."

Jonathan's brows went up as he looked at Millar, summarily ignoring the other man. "Dying?"

"For Christ's sake, Brant, shut the fuck up before you make a complete pig's arse of this!" Millar snapped as he swatted him hard in the back of the head. "He's not…shit, I don't know." He stared hard at Jonathan, as if debating saying more, then exhaled heavily through his nose. "We know you're the one who patched him up; we heard him mention your name a few times now."

A wry smirk briefly turned up the corners of Jonathan's mouth. He could just about imagine the sorts of conversations those had been. "Yes. And I also told him, in my professional opinion, that he should remain."

"Yeah, well…he's a tough bastard, and probably felt well enough. But now, he's not _good_ , I know that. Flu, maybe? He's got a fever that the medics have been trying to break. Aspirin isn't touching it, and we're out of ideas. Our medics are good, but they're not doctors, you know?"

"So why the hell didn't you bring him here for treatment?" Jonathan demanded.

Millar scowled. "Because he's bloody stubborn, that's why! As it is, he'll be pissed at us for coming to you, but…" He frowned in exasperation. "We need you. Look. I know you won't believe me, but McCullum's given us orders that none of us are to touch you unless you attack us first. He says the pleasure of killing you is his and his alone, so…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"I'm touched," Jonathan said flatly, though he did discreetly roll his eyes, glad to learn that the brunet's obstinance wasn't a trait reserved just for him. _I swear, you will be the death of me, Geoffrey McCullum…_ He clenched his jaw tightly as he pondered his options, and then screwed up his face in consternation. "All right. I will come take a look, see what I can do. But I promise you, if this is a trick of some sort, I will kill every last one of you for it."

Millar didn't look surprised by that, and gave a stiff nod of acknowledgement. "It's no trick, but agreed."

"Good. And once I see him, he becomes my patient. Which means he _must_ come back here to be treated. I have equipment here that I can use, medicines that can help him. This will not become just another patch job. That is non-negotiable."

"Bollocks!" Millar's scowl deepened as he wondered just how he was going to convince his brothers-in-arms to allow a leech to take their leader away, no questions asked.."…Fine. If you convince the medics to let him to go, get him to agree, I'll see to it that no one stops you from taking him."

"Fine. But you stay away from the hospital while he's undergoing treatment. There are others trying to recover and I will not have Priwen loitering around and causing a disturbance and making demands of the staff. I will not have a repeat of this debacle we just went through."

"No! We want to know how he's doing, just like any other patient's family would be able to."

Jonathan considered that. "You make a good point. Very well. Just you then, Sergeant Millar. I will speak with you only, and you can relay what you wish to your people. Those are my terms. Accept, or find another doctor."

Millar scowled. "…Fine," he agreed finally. "But I don't like it." He eyed the raven. "You're sure you can help him if you talk him into it?"

Jonathan smirked. "Oh, I'm not bothering with discussion and debate this time. He's coming here, willingly or by force. But I've learned that an unconscious patient is a compliant patient. Though without knowing what, exactly, is wrong with him, I won't promise anything. But you have my word that I'll do my best to see him to recovery."

Millar studied Jonathan's face, eyes narrowed in thought. "Oddly, I believe you, leech."

"Thank you. I think." Jonathan took a moment to think of his best course of action. "Milton Hooks, our ambulance driver, will accompany me. I can carry him, but I'd prefer not to have him out in the elements unprotected for that long. Besides, he's heavier than he looks. I will need a moment to prepare my bag."

After finding Milton and telling him to bring the ambulance around, Jonathan gathered up a few necessary supplies in his satchel, hoping it would be enough to at least stabilize the brunet's condition until he had him back at Pembroke and could run some tests. Jonathan was incredibly grateful to Strickland for understanding his reneging on his previous offer so that they could go on the call; he would find some way to make it up to his colleague. As he walked out to the waiting car, he glanced at the two guards who fell into step beside him. "What are you doing?"

"Coming with you," Millar said. "You wouldn't seriously make us walk all the way across Whitechapel when you're going to the same spot, would you, you bastard? It's bloody cold out! Besides, if you've got an escort, it'll be an easier job for you, yeah? No one's going to give you a hard time." He saw the dubious lift of a brow. "Yeah, okay, the lads still likely will. It's not every day we invite your kind in, and no one's going to like it much. Let's say _less_ of a hard time?"

Jonathan huffed impatiently, but had to admit that Millar had a point. He would have less trouble if there were already guards with him over showing up seemingly out of the blue. He just hoped McCullum would appreciate the trouble he was going to in order to help him. Not that he'd really needed all that much convincing to act in the first place. At least not where the brunet was concerned. "Very well," he agreed, and he sat in the back with Millar while Brant sat up front to give Milton directions.

After parking, Jonathan told Milton to wait for him, and he followed the two men inside the two-story flat once he'd been invited inside. He already knew from past prowling that McCullum's room was on the second floor, but he simply nodded when informed of that fact, and headed up the staircase. As they reached the top of the landing, Jonathan came face-to-face with a wide-eyed young man who had been keeping watch at the window. The raven gave him a small nod in greeting, and the boy abruptly stood up, knocking his chair over in the process, and pointed his rifle at him. "It's a leech! Kill it!" In a panic, he squeezed the trigger, and then cocked the action to reload.

Jonathan staggered back a couple of steps when he felt the incendiary round penetrate his stomach, and he gritted his teeth against the pain as the phosphorous burned him. It hurt. Considerably. "No tricks, eh Millar?" he growled as he grabbed the boy by the throat and held him against the wall so he couldn't shoot again, the startled guard dropping his weapon in the process. Baring his fangs in a grimace, he probed the wound for the round, a pained snarl following as he fished it out and dropped it on the floor. The throbbing immediately started to abate as his body began to heal the injury, and he kicked the rifle away. Angry blue eyes shifted to the guard who had shot him, and he lifted his upper lip in the beginnings of a sneer.

"Thompson, you bloody wanker!" Millar snapped as he moved between Jonathan and the guard, looking somewhat panicked as Brant in turn pointed his pistol at Jonathan. "Everyone calm the fuck down!" he exclaimed, hoping that Jonathan would still believe he'd been sincere in making his request. "Put it the fuck away, Brant!" he commanded, waving off the other guards who had come to investigate, and then turned to Jonathan. "Please," he said evenly, and he held Jonathan's gaze for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief when he wordlessly let the boy go and took a half step back. "What the hell is the matter with you, boy?" he demanded of the guard as he coughed and tried to draw in a breath.

"It's a leech in our building, Sergeant. I was told to shoot on sight if I ever saw one."

"And you didn't fucking think there might be a reason he'd be here when you saw me and Brant walk in with him? That he'd been invited?" He glanced at Jonathan from over his shoulder, not surprised to see the man was still righteously pissed. And he hadn't killed Thompson. He was impressed.

"Sorry, Sergeant. I didn't think about that."

"That's bloody obvious! You'd damned well better start, or you're going to wind up dead. First off, what'd McCullum tell you about this one?"

Thompson studied Jonathan for a moment. "Off-limits unless he's attacking?"

"Yeah. Last I checked, walking calmly up a flight of stairs with a doctor's bag isn't attacking. But even if he was, shooting him in the guts does fuck all but piss a leech off - Christ, I should have let him swat you once just for the lesson!" Millar said in exasperation. "Head or heart, like you're trained, lad! Jesus, use your head for more than a hat rack! God, you're lucky nothing happened. Between you and me, I'd take my chances with a biter over McCullum if you've torqued him off."

Behind Millar, Jonathan discreetly brought a hand up, parodying a throat-clearing cough to hide the smirk, his anger ebbing more and more the longer he listened to Millar go off. And he agreed with all of it - especially the last!

"Brant, make sure this one gets on the range for target practice. Now."

"Yes, Sergeant." Brant picked up the rifle and handed it back to Thompson. "Right. Let's go, Deadeye."

Millar turned to Jonathan once the other two had moved off. "Sorry about all that. Nothing personal, but…" He trailed off with a shrug. "You look all right now."

Jonathan snorted softly. "I'll give you this one, Sergeant Millar," he said, annoyed that another perfectly good jacket had been ruined. "The next one, I will not be as…understanding."

Millar nodded his head stiffly. "Ta. Anyway, come on," he said, and it wasn't long before he stopped outside a heavy oak door. "I'd warn you that he's been in a mood, but…well, you've dealt with him." He knocked sharply and then opened the door, stepping inside first, and then beckoning Jonathan in. "I brought him, like I said. Grant, Quinn, this is Doctor Reid."

The two medics gave Jonathan a quick once over. "Leech doctor," Grant mused, and then chuckled. "Or is it Doctor Leech? What's the world coming to?" He nodded towards the bed where Geoffrey was resting. "Fever's been high for the last day, and we can't break it. We've given him two doses of aspirin since this morning. We were about to give him a third."

"No," Jonathan said as he stood at the foot of the bed and looked the brunet over. He was shaking with chills despite the sheen of sweat on his brow, and narrowing his eyes, Jonathan studied him, checking his overall health. He could hear the soft rattles as he breathed, suggesting the start of pneumonia, and based on everything he'd seen to date, he was sure he was in the early stages of flu. He peeked under Geoffrey's bandage to look at his wound. It still looked healthy, but he could see that it wasn't clotting as well as it should be - a by-product of the aspirin. "No more aspirin. Any more right now, and I fear it will thin his blood too much. I'll give him something stronger to help with both the fever and the pneumonia."

"You can know all that just by looking at him?" Quinn asked, and when Jonathan merely gave him a look, he snorted and shook his head. "Ah. Leech abilities. That one'd be damned convenient." He came over to the bedside. "We thought it was flu at first, but this isn't like any flu we've ever dealt with. Never seen it come on so hard or so fast."

"It's this Spanish Influenza," Jonathan explained as he pulled out a syringe from his bag and gave Geoffrey an injection of oil of clove and codeine to start treating the pneumonia. "The strain is unusual." He turned to the men. "We need to cool him, and quickly. Do you have any ice?"

Grant arched a brow. "Ice? This isn't the West End; we don't have a fancy ice box just lying about in the corner! We're lucky we've got what we've got. We've been drawing up water from the Thames, but it doesn't seem to be enough. When he's awake, we've been giving him tea and broth. He takes it down all right, but a lot of the time he's a bit out of it from the fever whenever he wakes up."

"Delirium," Jonathan said. "It's common with high fevers. But he does come out of it?"

Grant watched Geoffrey shift slightly under the blanket, and heard him start to mumble. "Yeah, eventually. He shakes it off, and then he's just a right bastard to deal with. Mood swings, mostly irritable."

Jonathan nodded, carefully watching Geoffrey both with his doctor's eyes, and his vampire ones. "When his fever breaks, that should stop. At least the delirium." ' _Irritable_ ' seemed to be McCullum's default. With no ice available, Jonathan swabbed Geoffrey's brow with a strip of linen he'd moistened in alcohol, hoping that would provide some cooling for him, and then he laid the strip along his collarbone. "As I told Sergeant Millar, I think his best course of action is to return with him to Pembroke. I have the means to look after him there."

"We're not handing him over to you," Quinn said.

"Quinn, it's for the best. He took care of him last time. He'll do it again."

"And maybe he won't," Quinn said. "How do I know he hasn't gotten in your head, Millar?"

"You're a fucking idiot, Quinn!" Millar exclaimed.

"I'm not putting him in the care of a monster."

"No?" Jonathan nodded, and began slowly packing up his bag. "Very well. Then I wish you all the best in your course of treatment. The injection I gave him should help for a brief time, but I anticipate he'll succumb in a few days if you keep him out here."

Quinn undid the clasp on the pistol he wore at his hip, hand hovering over it. "And if we just kill you now and take your bag, Doctor Leech?"

Jonathan smirked. "You could try. With what I have on hand, you might buy yourself a week. Assuming you know the proper dosages to administer and don't kill him outright first."

Grant stared at Jonathan, his gaze shifting behind him to look at Millar, who was silently urging them to comply. "Negotiating with leeches. Christ." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, but nodded stiffly. "All right. If we keep him, he will die. If you take him, he might die. You've left us no choice, and Millar seems to think you're worth a temporary armistice."

"Mister Grant, you have my word that I will do everything I can. I do believe that we both want the same thing in this instance." Jonathan really did believe that the world was a much more interesting place with Geoffrey McCullum in it.

"Remember that, beast. Because if he dies, I'll burn Pembroke to the ground myself."

Despite the seriousness of the threat, Jonathan did have to laugh to himself as he began tucking the blanket in around Geoffrey to prepare him to be moved. Priwen wasn't just fanatic about its goals, but they were fiercely loyal to their leader - enough to react in the most extreme of ways when dealing with either. "I shall look after him as if my life depended on it." The comment had been delivered with deliberate facetiousness, but there had been a grain of truth to it, too. At this point, Jonathan didn't know how he would feel if he didn't have Geoffrey around. He didn't like the idea of it, and he really didn't want to find out. He glanced at Geoffrey, and pushed some of the sweat-dampened bangs back from his eyes as he murmured, "Let's get you back and settled, hm?" He started in surprise when the brunet's eyes blinked open, glancing around for a moment before focusing on his face.

A ridiculous half-smile curved Geoffrey's lips upward when he saw the raven. He knew who it was he was looking at, but little more than that in that moment. "Oh, Reid! Good, it's you. Would you be a lamb and bring me a packet of custard creams? Carl and I were thinking they'd be good with tea."

Jonathan glanced at Quinn and Grant, a brow arching when he learned that Geoffrey was referring to his deceased mentor and guardian, Carl Eldritch. "Certainly," he said as he reached into his bag for a syringe and loaded it with a half dose of laudanum to put the brunet under. "Once you're a bit more stable, I'll be sure you get your tea and biscuits." He delivered the shot and watched as the blue went slightly glassy and out of focus. As Geoffrey's eyes fluttered shut, and stayed shut, Jonathan and Millar got him loaded in the ambulance, and then he and Milton returned to Pembroke.

Once inside, Jonathan got Geoffrey moved to Operating Room Two, and told the duty nurse he would require a bottle of blood, and to have others ready to draw from as he would definitely be requiring more. While the nurse headed off to do as instructed, Jonathan hooked up an intravenous line in Geoffrey's right arm, as he had the last time, and started giving him the salts and sugar solution. For flu, it was especially critical to keep him hydrated. Satisfied, he turned to the other side. Geoffrey's left forearm was one big bruise from where he'd torn the transfusion line free, and Jonathan felt only a small amount of guilt as he'd inserted the needle through the dark hematoma - after all, Geoffrey had brought that one on himself. 

"Ian, quit fucking biting me, you bastard," Geoffrey murmured, his eyes slitting open and rolling to their corners to look at Jonathan. "Go. Just run away," he said as he grabbed on to his wrist. "Far from here so they won't find you. I don't want you to die. I want to protect you, but I can't if you stay."

"Just rest now, Geoffrey," Jonathan said gently as he pried his hand free and hooked the tubing up. Sitting at Geoffrey's bedside, he inserted a second needle into Geoffrey's left arm, this one along the back of his wrist. The rubber tube was left open, the end hanging down into a covered basin on the floor. Inserting a large barrel syringe into the port there, he drew a vacuum to start the flow and watched, almost trance-like, as the blood began to run into the basin. The hunger tore at him, but he resisted, reminding himself over and over _I'm a doctor…I'm a doctor…_ After about ten minutes, he pulled the syringe and hooked up the bottle of blood to begin the actual transfusion, feeding the clean blood into the brunet. It was a radical treatment, an exchange transfusion, and Jonathan wasn't even sure if it would work, but he needed to try. With that set up, he turned to the duty nurse and said, "In…three hours, bring me another, and continue to have blood collected for me for the next twenty-four hours. In the meantime, I need two ice packs prepared. Quickly, Nurse." She was gone about ten minutes, and when she returned, Jonathan placed the cloth bags. He set one on Geoffrey's forehead, the other at the juncture of neck and shoulder on his uninjured side, hoping the ice would begin cooling him down. Jonathan watched him for several moments, and then sighed. "You've managed to get yourself into quite the hellacious mess this time," he said, and leaving the transfusion to run, he picked up the syringe and once again began letting blood out. Geoffrey had nearly taken in the first bottle when Edgar came into the room.

"Jonathan, I thought we agreed you would not dedicate all your time to one patient."

"I agreed to nothing of the sort. He is entitled, the same as any other patient. He needs treatment or he will die."

Edgar looked Geoffrey over, and he wrinkled his nose when he smelled the narcotics on him. "Laudanum _and_ codeine? Yes, well, I suppose keeping him sedated makes him more agreeable to be around." He looked at the transfusion apparatus Jonathan had hooked up, and he arched a brow as he studied it. "Intriguing concept. What is all this meant to do?"

"I am attempting to cure the illness with clean blood. A fresh sample is being taken in, and I am drawing out a roughly equal amount of his over the course two hours. I'll give him a one hour rest period, and then I will begin the procedure again. After twenty-four hours, everything should be well changed over." 

"Fascinating concept. Do you think it will work?"

"I…don't know. Exchange transfusion has proven successful in some cases, not in others. At this point, I believe I need to try."

"This seems like a fool's errand, Jonathan. You can see just as plainly as I can that he is not well at all. I say we keep him as comfortable as possible until his time comes and move on to those you can help. It's perhaps a bit cold hearted, but it's no different than what you went through during the war, having to triage patients, choose who to save and who to let die."

"Edgar, do not presume to know what I went through during the war. I am not prepared to write him off as a lost cause! If we save his life, with what we learn, we could help others."

"Hm. Perhaps…but truthfully? Between the fever and the pneumonia, I don't think you have that much time left."

"Then _help me_ Edgar!" Jonathan pled. "You were the one who had a hand in engineering this epidemic. The least you could do is help me find a cure."

"I only had good intentions when I acted!" Edgar replied somewhat defensively, and after a moment, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jonathan, but I think there are much more worthwhile endeavours to pursue than Priwen and Geoffrey McCullum."

Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "I see. So you refuse because of who my patient is, and no other reason?"

"If the Guard wishes to be biased against us, and paint us all with the same brush, then I'm prepared to offer them the same courtesy in return. Tit for tat."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this, Edgar! How can you do something so… _cruel_?"

"As I told you, dear boy, this is simply triage. Getting rid of what can't be salvaged. You forget, I am the Administrator here. This is _my_ hospital."

Jonathan's expression was one of cold fury. "And you forget that you are _my_ Childe. I can, and I have, ignored your indifference, your dereliction of your Oath, and even your general apathy towards anything not within the scope of your research as you have come to embrace this life. But hear me well. You _will_ allow me this one thing, Edgar, or I promise you will quickly see a side of me you will live to regret, my progeny."

Edgar blinked stupidly for a moment, shocked silent by the other's words. He frowned a little, and nudged up his glasses. "Now Jonathan, I-" He trailed off into a startled gasp when Jonathan let out a very dark, very evil sounding snarl, fangs bared fully and eyes narrowed in hateful rage. For those brief few seconds, which felt like an eternity, Edgar really did feel like he was in hell and in the grasp of a terrifying beast. Unable to tear his gaze away from that eerie, pale blue, Edgar wash shown what true fear felt like, and in his heart, he knew Jonathan was serious about his demand. "I just don't understand why you care so much if that warmonger lives or dies!"

"I care because I care." Jonathan's stare turned even colder, eyes now nothing more than narrowed slits, and from his fingertips, he could feel the slow roiling of the shadows as he called to them, summoning them to do his bidding.

Edgar was confused by the answer, but he knew better than to push his luck. The raven was beyond angry with him, and Edgar could feel the shift in the energy of the room as Jonathan drew on his power. He did not want to see what that dark side was capable of if released, and he nodded stiffly. "Very well, Jonathan. Do whatever it is you need to. But know this. If something happens while he is here, I will see your Registration revoked."

Jonathan snorted humourlessly as he curled his hand into a fist, carefully releasing the energy he'd built. "Something _always_ seems to happen at Pembroke, Edgar. But all right. If McCullum commits any violation here while under my care, I will willingly surrender my Registration to you personally. I will even give you my research notes for you to continue my work, if you should want them."

"Your research? My, you are very confident about the outcome of something you cannot predict with certainty." He smiled a little, and then teased, "With that on the table, now I'm not sure which outcome I would favour! As much as I would enjoy our continued colleagueship and friendship, having the opportunity to study your notes is a tantalizing prospect!" 

Jonathan arched a brow, fairly sure of which option Edgar favoured. "To be fair, Edgar, I did invite you to be a part of it."

"Well then, if your offer still stands, perhaps I will come and see what you discover? Two minds are better than one, they say."

"It still stands," Jonathan said. "Thank you, Edgar."

"I just hope you know what you're doing, Jonathan. You have a lot at stake, both personally and professionally. Why take the risk for this one?"

"Just because," Jonathan said, and he busied himself with removing the empty transfusion bottle so that Edgar wouldn't see the slight flush to his cheeks, it likely more pronounced because he was hungry.

"Easy. Because he likes me better than he does you, you bastard. Tell him, Reid. Go on, no need to be shy about it," Geoffrey said suddenly, heavy eyelids lifting just enough to show the dark blue underneath.

"How long have you been awake?" Edgar demanded.

"Long enough." Geoffrey really had no idea, but the response was enough of a non-answer to be irritatingly vague. A crooked smirk crept, and he let out a soft bark of laughter at the sour expression Edgar wore. "Ha! Funny thing, because I was just thinking I like him better than you, too." Edgar shot Geoffrey an odious look, and without another word, turned and left the room. "Oi, don't be upset, Swansea!" he called as he propped himself up for a moment on an elbow. "I know it's a bitter pill, knowing you're a fucking prat, but be a man about it. The truth sometimes hurts."

Jonathan did smile when he heard the drawl. Even ill, Geoffrey still managed to be insufferably arrogant to the point of being borderline obnoxious. "Oh, come now, McCullum, that's just the fever talking. We know you don't really like anyone," Jonathan said with a small chuckle as he came over to resettle Geoffrey and reposition the ice packs, the brunet already feeling a bit cooler to the touch.

"Ah, Reid, that's not true. Not true at all," Geoffrey said as he leaned back against his pillow. "I'd tell you more about it, but that would just make things weird for everyone involved. Especially me."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Jonathan couldn't help but chuckle again at seeing this side of Geoffrey. "Well, I won't be so indelicate as to ask you to confess. Just rest for now, and as soon as your fever breaks, we'll see about getting you something warm to drink."

"Okay. So long as it's not that shit broth Quinn makes."

"No. Tea to start, I think."

"With milk and sugar?"

"I think we can manage that for you."

"Milk in the cup first. Not added to the tea. It tastes like arse and I'll know."

"I'll prepare it for you myself to make sure. I promise."

Geoffrey smiled a little. "Okay." He let his eyes fall closed, his breathing becoming slower and more even. "I believe you."

"Thank you." When Geoffrey nodded off again, Jonathan took another look at his bite and redressed the wound, and then pulled a blood sample. He would analyse it, just to be certain, but he was confident he already knew what he'd find. He'd seen it before.

Geoffrey had contracted the skal virus.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Nothing beyond fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> Jonathan and Geoffrey are talking. And by God, they like to talk... which, really, isn't a bad thing. It means they're both a bit more comfortable around each other, so we can see glimpses of personalities beyond the stoic. Because hey, you just can't get into a relationship with someone who acts like a cardboard automaton. Or is a complete dick all the time. Or, maybe you can, but I have a difficult time seeing that... ^_^;;
> 
> Things will be a lot more pleasant for them if Geoffrey can learn that De Nile is not just a river in Egypt, and Jonathan...well, I'm convinced he's visiting the same place.
> 
> For those of you who have played and completed the game, I'm sure that from this point forward, the story I tell will diverge greatly from the game plot (well, beyond the obvious of Jonathan not being with Lady A.) Yes, the basic premise is still there - the epidemic, the Disaster, and those events, but how they unfold, and perhaps the order in which things happen, may be different. So please, remember this is canon divergence, m'kay? I'm not trying to ruin anyone's experiences or step on anyone's toes with my crazy ideas. **mwah**
> 
> I love all of you for the support you've shown thus far. I do read all of your comments, and I enjoy them all. Thank you for indulging me this far on our wild ride. And thank you for being patient. They _will_ have their time together, but on this roller coaster, we have to get through all the twists, turns, climbs and drops first. And yes, my lovelies, I _do_ love those drops - how else am I to get your hearts in your throats? ~_^
> 
> You're all fantastic. ♥ xoxo

_Geoffrey was with his men in the sewer, the group of them easily taking out the cluster of skals from their vantage point on the catwalk. "Bloody hell! Quit wasting ammunition," he snapped to the newbies on the squad. "The head or the heart. Anywhere else, maybe you'll slow it down, but you'll get it right pissed off in the process."_

_"Very good, my son," Carl Eldritch praised as he sat on the railing next to Geoffrey. "You’ve learned your lessons well. You've become a good leader. I made a good choice in training you."_

_"Carl? What the hell are you doing here?" Geoffrey asked, even as a wide smile passed across his face and he embraced the man. "Where've you been? I didn't know you were back! Got time for a cup?"_

_"Oh, I couldn't possibly, lad. I was just checking in on you. Seeing how you're getting along with the mission. The Great Hunt must continue. You know that?"_

_"Aye, I know," Geoffrey replied as he raised his rifle and picked off another skal. "It'll be glorious when our work is completed."_

_Carl smiled. "How very true. The only good vampire is a dead one, eh?" He laughed softly. "Continue to maintain vigilance, my son. I look forward to hearing about your successes." The older man's gaze shifted to the tunnel. "Ooh, you missed one."_

_"Piece of cake," Geoffrey replied, though he arched a brow when he saw a male vampire that looked very familiar to him. As if it knew he was there, the vampire turned towards him, blue eyes very much like his own staring curiously at him. "Da?" He looked at Carl, obviously confused by what he was seeing. "This…isn't right. How can this be possible?"_

_"Consider it a test, my dear boy. You could do it, right Geoffrey?"_

_"…Yeah. Yeah, I could." Geoffrey raised his rifle again and shot the man. He turned back to Carl. "Whenever I think of him, I don't remember the man much. I remember the beast. It was his fault our family was torn apart. Bloody leech."_

_"They do that, Geoffrey. It's why they're not to be trusted. They only seek to cut a swathe of destruction wherever they go. No mercy - they are not who they claim to be. Like that one, yes?"_

_Geoffrey looked down in the sewer again, and this time he saw his brother. Geoffrey'd told him to run, and now he was in front of him, chained with no escape. He could see Ian pleading with him not to do it, red tears tracking down his cheeks, and Geoffrey clenched his jaw. "He's still my brother…"_

_"IT stopped being your brother when its soul was corrupted by the change." Gently, Carl helped Geoffrey aim his rifle. "We do not negotiate. We do not compromise. You must do what is necessary to stop the scourge. Priwen must prevail."_

_"Priwen must prevail," Geoffrey murmured, and though the rifle trembled a little in his hands, he took the shot._

_"Excellent. Just one more." He pointed into the sewer to where Jonathan stood. "That is the worst one of all. The one responsible for unleashing this Disaster."_

_Geoffrey's blood ran cold and he shook his head. "No. It wasn't him. He's not like the others. I've seen it for myself."_

_"They're ALL the same, Geoffrey. You know that. They all bite in the end. You said so yourself."_

_"Not him. He's better than that. He's my - my friend."_

_"What? Friends with a blood drinker? Impossible. You know better than that. You show sympathy for just one leech and the next thing you know, you've got an infestation on your hands. The very idea is disgusting! You are Priwen, and my ward. Do what you were trained to. Cleanse this land and restore it to glory."_

_"Maybe there can be exceptions, Carl. Maybe sometimes we can work together. Maybe some can even be trusted. The world is changing. Why can't we?"_

_Carl snorted. "You've grown soft, my lad. What has happened to you?" He pointed down at Jonathan. "Or is it that you are afraid of this one, after what he did to you?"_

_"I'm not afraid. And I'm not a fucking coward!"_

_"Then what is it? What makes you hesitate?"_

_"It's nothing!" Geoffrey said defensively, and he turned away from Carl, feeling very uncomfortable and very awkward. "He's just…different from other leeches. He intrigues me."_

_"Intrigues you?" Carl drawled with a hint of a sneer. "You sound like you care about this beast. How revolting; the thought turns my stomach."_

_"I-I don't care for him. About him!" Geoffrey amended quickly, still unable to meet Carl's eyes._

_"You're lying. You've changed, my lad." Carl smirked when Geoffrey turned to face him, anger showing in the dark blue. "No? Then do what I trained you to do."_

_"No! I won't kill him!"_

_"I'm so disappointed in you, Geoffrey." Carl sighed heavily as he shook his head. "Very well," he continued as he pulled a pistol out of the inside of his jacket, the sharp gaze narrowing as he took aim. "Then I will."_

_Two shots sounded in the sewer. The first came from Carl's pistol and went wide because Geoffrey had grabbed his arm. The second came from Geoffrey's revolver - and went point-blank into Carl's heart._

Geoffrey's eyes snapped open, his eyes darting frantically around the room as he tried to figure out what was going on. A dream - but a fucked up one at that! He could smell antiseptic and hear voices talking. Turning his head slightly, he could see Edgar and Jonathan huddled around a microscope. "Shit. Fucking Pembroke…" Both doctors looked up when they heard the voice. Jonathan looked relieved. Edgar looked put out, and after pursing his lips, he turned his attention back to Jonathan.

"You have to admit it's promising, Edgar. This sample is clean, and the one before was very nearly normal - and we've detected no trace of anything in the drain."

"Yes, it is encouraging. But I think it's premature to celebrate, not knowing entirely what we're dealing with. I'd suggest we pull the lines, as you said, and then continue to sample every four hours to monitor. If another twenty-four hours passes, and the infection doesn't return, then I would agree that it's a success. However…" Edgar glanced at Geoffrey again. "You may have to accept the fact that there is nothing more to be done."

"Perhaps you could at least _attempt_ to curb your enthusiasm when you say things like that?" Jonathan said tartly.

"Apologies, Jonathan. Just caught up in the moment." Edgar adjusted his glasses, and grinned widely, his expression suggesting he was anything but contrite. "It would be…disappointing to lose a test subject. Still, that doesn't mean our research is finished. We have obtained a lot of excellent data from this case which I'm sure we can put to good use moving forward. This is _thrilling_ , Jonathan! We're on the edge of a breakthrough. I know it!"

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Jonathan said flatly as he came around the bench and made his way to Geoffrey's bedside. "If you're satisfied, then we can reconvene in four hours. In the meantime, I have rounds to complete."

"Yes, of course. I know how you like to…roll up your sleeves and just _dive in_. Very well, Jonathan. I have notes to make anyway. We will talk more later."

"Good bye, Edgar," Jonathan said, summarily dismissing the other as he felt Geoffrey's forehead, a hint of a smile cresting when the brunet didn't pull away. "I would say that your fever has broken. This is good news."

Geoffrey's attention shifted from the doorway, where he'd been silently watching Edgar, to Jonathan. "Swansea was weird when he was alive," he mused. "It wasn't just him being eccentric. There was something creepy about him. But now, I feel something sinister when I'm around him. I feel it in my guts, like I do around other leeches. It's how I know one's nearby." He frowned slightly. He didn't really get that sense of foreboding from Jonathan. Maybe a little; Geoffrey could just _tell_ when something not human was around, but the raven felt as close to 'normal' to him as was likely possible under the circumstances. The frown deepened. The Guard would have had a field day studying Jonathan - he was an anomaly. A vampire that didn't fit neatly into the predefined moulds. If they could understand how he'd managed to become the exception to the rule, it would change the way they hunted the beasts. His eyes narrowed a little. Not that he was going to allow anyone to experiment on Jonathan, regardless of the ends. Swansea, on the other hand… He snorted. "I don't trust him."

"That's probably a wise move on your part," Jonathan said as he put the two ice packs, now mostly melted, into a basin for the nurse to take away and then turned his attention to removing the intravenous line. "I know there wasn't much love lost between the two of you before. Now, things seem almost hostile and he's very overt in his dislike of you."

Geoffrey snorted in disgust, only barely flinching when the needle was pulled. "He's not as benevolent as he tries to convince everyone. His change has just made it easier to see the shitty characteristics that were always lurking within him. We'd been watching him for a while before we even knew you were here. That was an unexpected bonus." He watched Jonathan wrap a length of gauze around his arm and tie it off. "I thought you were smart. Why would you ever turn a man like that?"

Jonathan stared hard at Geoffrey. "I wouldn't have had to even consider it as an option if not for you! Your men left him so broken and beaten, he would never have survived the night with those injuries. In hindsight, having seen what I've seen, I would never have done it. But at the time, it seemed the lesser of two evils. The hospital needed its Administrator to keep everything together, to keep morale from falling completely to despair. Instead of becoming the leader Pembroke needed, well…he became a self-serving prig."

"Ooh, Doctor Reid, such language!" Geoffrey said with a chuckle, thinking he'd laugh outright if he ever heard the man say 'fuck'.

Jonathan arched a brow, and bit back the want to smirk. "You haven't seen me lose my temper." Sobering some, he continued. "When this epidemic is over, I shall no longer advise him or defend him. With his present outlook on things, I do not anticipate he will last very long on his own. I'm not going to kill him, or ask others to do it for me, but I'd imagine when all is said and done, he'll have made himself a few enemies because of his actions. Or, inactions. And as far as the Guard of Priwen goes, I'm not going to help you in your quest, but should your men come calling for him, I'm not going to stop you, either."

Geoffrey's brows went up on hearing that, and then he chuckled. "Jesus, Reid. I didn't think you had it in you to be that cold-blooded. I'm impressed."

"Well, as you would tell me, I am a vampire. It's in my nature to be."

 _Except that you're not…_ "Yeah…" Geoffrey knew it had been meant as a teasing jibe, Jonathan repeating his own words back to him, but for some reason, in that moment, it bothered him to hear it. Wanting to change the subject, he asked, "So, how long have I been here this time? Another three days?"

Jonathan did smile as he shook his head. "No, just since last night. You had a bad fever that your medics couldn't break, and you've got a touch of pneumonia - a side effect of the influenza we're trying to treat. We had a couple of conversations, you and I, but you were delirious; I'm not surprised you don't remember being awake. I put you on fluids, but if you're up to it, I can send for something to eat? I did promise to make you tea." He smirked. "Milk first, because you claimed you'd know if it was otherwise."

"I would know," Geoffrey said matter-of-factly, and he thought about the offer. "Well, since my own people put me in here - and you'd damned well better believe I'll be having a word with them about _that_ \- I may as well take advantage of Pembroke's hospitality."

Jonathan chuckled. "I'm glad to see you're listening to reason for a change. I will ask the duty nurse to bring you a tray. Though I do apologize in advance. It won't be five star."

"I can be reasonable when the mood strikes me." Geoffrey smirked, and as Jonathan stepped out into the hall to talk to her, he called, "I've got a prominent vampire doctor offering to make me a cuppa? The entertainment alone makes it worth it."

Jonathan snorted in amusement as he came back into the room a few minutes later. "You _do_ remember that I haven't been immortal that long - I haven't forgotten how." He arched a brow at the crooked smile. "What?"

"I'm just fucking with you, Reid. You make it too easy. I thought your kind were the ones supposed to be good at the mind games, not me."

"Maybe I'm better at them than you think, McCullum. You're here, in _my_ space, are you not? If I just simply make the right suggestion to a few of your men…" When Geoffrey's eyes widened, then narrowed suspiciously, he shook his head. "I didn't. I wouldn't." He offered a small smile. "I may insist that you stay, but I think you know by now you're not my prisoner here."

Geoffrey continued to study the other. Jonathan looked better than he had the last time he'd seen him, but he still looked tired. "Did you stay up with me all day?" he asked, and when Jonathan cleared his throat uncomfortably and busied himself with clearing off a mayo stand, he snorted. "Yeah. Thought so." Geoffrey let his gaze travel around the room, the space boringly sterile and much less comfortable than his previous accommodation. "Do you sleep?" he asked, and when he saw the nod, he continued, "Then why don't you sleep while I'm here? Is it that you don't trust me? That you think I'll run off, or maybe kill you in your lair?"

Jonathan glanced over his shoulder at him. "No. I trust you." He nodded his head towards the doorway. "I don't trust them. Not all of them. Not completely." He picked up a roll of gauze and some scissors. "The first time you were here, I wouldn't allow anyone else in my room. This time, I want to be certain that everything is handled…properly." Turning his attention to the transfusion line, Jonathan turned the stopcock on the bottle and then, applying pressure with his thumb, he pulled the needle free. "For future reference, _that_ is how it's done so you don't make a mess," he couldn't help but tease as he held the injection site for a moment, and then wrapped it with gauze and tied the bandage off.

"Yeah, well…" Geoffrey truly had been surprised by what had happened that night. "…Shut it."

Jonathan snorted in amusement. "I should remove the drain line, too, before your dinner arrives. Unless you think it will make you squeamish?"

Geoffrey arched a brow. "I shoot leeches in the fucking heart before I behead them, Reid. A bit of blood doesn't bother me at this stage. Not even my own." He looked at the tube running from the back of his hand and he arched a brow. "What, exactly, have you been doing to me?"

"It's a new treatment option for some types of infections," Jonathan said. "Your case, it's rare. Conventional medicines don't seem to work, so I had to try something a bit more radical."

"You're using me as a lab rat?" Geoffrey exclaimed. "I'm grudgingly taking your treatments. I never said I was willing to be an experiment!"

"It's not like that! It isn't an experiment! Geoffrey, I swear it. I would never without my patient's permission - to do otherwise is unethical."

Geoffrey's jaw tightened. "Then you'd better start explaining what this is to me, because something feels sketchy about the whole thing!" He looked down at the drain line, then gave Jonathan a hard look. "Well?"

"Is it really so hard to trust me?"

"When I don't know what's going on? Yes, it is!"

Jonathan exhaled heavily. "When I was alive - mortal - I was the leading expert on blood transfusion technology, and my field of expertise was-is working with and analysing blood."

Geoffrey stared flatly at him. "You're shitting me."

"Believe me, the irony is not lost." A wry smirk crept across Jonathan's features before falling away, and taking Geoffrey's wrist in his hands, he carefully removed the second needle and let the tube hang over the edge of the basin. "The first night you came here, you needed several blood transfusions for the blood loss you suffered. But where you were bitten, and by what, I worried about the possibility of infection. You seemed fine when you left, but I had no way of knowing for sure. That was why I begged you to come back if you contracted symptoms of flu." He paused long enough to wrap a bandage around Geoffrey's wrist and secure it. "I confirmed it last night. Your blood is infected. I have no drug I can give you to combat it, so I set you up for exchange transfusion therapy. Basically, over the course of two hours, I allowed clean blood to run into your system while I drained out an equal amount over that same timeframe. After a rest period, I repeated the process. I've been working on you for the past twenty-four hours, and so far it seems to be having a positive effect. The last sample I tested, just before you woke, it appeared clean."

"And you're just telling me about this now, because?"

Jonathan sighed, and when he saw the duty nurse arrive with the meal, he got up to take the tray from her with a nod of thanks. Setting it on the mayo stand, he rolled it over to Geoffrey, presenting him with a bowl of oatmeal topped with cinnamon and milk, a pot of tea, and two digestives. "Would you have even listened to me had I tried?" he asked as he poured a bit of milk into the teacup, added a spoon of sugar, and then poured the tea through the strainer into the cup. "You were angry. You were argumentative. And you were hell-bent on going home. At that time, because I saw no evidence of infection, I believed the best course of action was to let you do as you wanted. If I'd tried to stop you, you'd have just resisted that much harder."

Geoffrey frowned as he stabbed at his oatmeal with the tip of his spoon. "Fair enough," he agreed reluctantly. "And last night?"

Jonathan arched a brow. "You were hardly in any position to tell me your own name, let alone comprehend anything I might tell you. You asked me to fetch you biscuits, for God's sake. And I didn't think you would want me telling your soldiers what I suspected."

"Hn." He ate a bite of the oatmeal, thinking about that for a few minutes, while at the same time appreciating Jonathan's discretion. "So, this treatment of yours, I'm better now?"

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you did. You said my blood was fine."

"It is. For the moment. But I need to make sure the infection is truly gone before I release you."

"Well, I feel fine," Geoffrey said, deliberately looking to be contrary.

"You do look better," Jonathan agreed with a frustrated sigh. "But indulge me for a little longer?"

Geoffrey sullenly ate another bite of oatmeal. "I've indulged you too much already, leech." He set the bowl down in favour of the teacup, and he took a sip. He gave it a curious look, and then met Jonathan's gaze. "Though you can make good tea."

Jonathan smiled a little. "Thank you." He began rinsing out the needles and rubber tubes in the scrub sink while Geoffrey ate his dinner. When he'd finished, he put the equipment onto a cart to be taken to be sterilized, and then, seeing that the brunet was nearly done, he retrieved the drain basin off the floor.

Geoffrey watched Jonathan set it on the laboratory bench, still beyond surprised that the raven could be around so much blood and maintain his composure. As he dunked the last of his biscuit in his tea and ate it, he looked curiously at his arm. He didn't know much about medicine beyond very basic first aid, and this whole situation was as intriguing as it was strange. He debated for a moment, and then asked, "If you put a needle in me here, and it came out here, how could any of it have even been mine? It's maybe twelve inches between spots. It'd just run through."

Jonathan smiled softly. "It's not a straight path, one point to the other. Besides, I know it was yours."

"How?"

The smile morphed into a crooked smirk. "You really want to know?"

"I asked, didn't I?" Geoffrey snapped impatiently. "I've nowhere else to be, so I might as well see if I can learn something from you, yeah?"

"All right, then. By scent." He chuckled when he saw a brow lift. "Everyone's blood is a little bit different. I paid attention when I hooked the bottles up to start the transfusions, and I…I'm familiar with your blood. I could tell when it was the transfusion, yours, or a combination."

Geoffrey made a slight face. "Christ. You're like a damned spaniel. -It's not fucking funny!" he remarked irritably when he heard Jonathan laugh, the sound warming him regardless. It was a pleasant sound, and he hid his smile behind the rim of the cup as took down the last swallow of his tea. He really did feel better in Jonathan's company, and when he realized that it wasn't just because of his medical attention, he sought to come up with a new line of conversation to distract himself. "So what's to happen with that, then?" he asked as he nodded towards the basin.

Jonathan arched a brow and gave him a hard stare.

Geoffrey's eyes widened. "Jesus, that's ghoulish. And you wonder why I call you beast."

"Prior to this life, it would have gone down the drain. But now, it would be a waste." Jonathan gave a blasé shrug. "Would you feel better about it if I had taken it from the source?" When he saw the withering look he got in return, he offered a small smile. "Don't condemn me for being a monster and then berate me for not being one."

Geoffrey snorted derisively, though the more he thought about it, the more his face fell into a disgusted grimace. "Not a normal thing for leeches to do," he mused

"No. It's quite repellent, actually. Cold and coagulated, but if it's not sat for too long, I can get it down. Though I'll say it is marginally better than…other food sources." Even upon sitting, he did feel a slight spark with the human blood that fresh rat blood and skal blood didn't provide, and that fact alone made it slightly more palatable. Plus, it was Geoffrey's blood; he wasn't about to just throw it away! Clearing his throat, he returned to Geoffrey's bedside, pleased to see that he'd finished what was on the tray. "Do you want another tea?"

"You making it?"

Jonathan chuckled. "I will. But only because you're ill. Once you're recovered, you can make your own damned tea." As he had before, Jonathan prepared the cup, and after handing it off, he said, "I do have something for you. I had one of the day staff pick it up for me."

Geoffrey frowned, and he studied the raven's profile, the man creating more questions within him than answers. Presently, he wondered why Jonathan was being so kind to him when he truly had no reason to be. He suspected that if he asked, he'd be told something along the lines of _You're my patient, and I have my Oath to uphold_. That was bullshit. Geoffrey knew in his gut that it was more than that. Some part of him wanted it to be more. But at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to ask, because he was afraid of what Jonathan might say, or what the answer might do to him. Geoffrey didn't want anyone to befriend him. He didn't befriend leeches. And he certainly didn't want to consider anything the possibility of anything beyond even that. "I told you before, Reid, being nice to me isn't going to win you any sort of special treatment." Still, he was admittedly curious as to what sort of 'gift' the other had brought.

"And I told you I wasn't looking to have any," Jonathan replied quietly as he opened the top drawer of the laboratory bench. Returning to Geoffrey's bedside, he set a small packet of Custard Creams on the mayo stand. "You asked for these last night. Given your state of mind at the time, I figured you must either love them, or despise them." He smiled a little. "I gambled."

Geoffrey gave Jonathan a curious look when he saw the biscuits, and then he frowned again. "How could you even get this? Everything's being rationed."

"And what use do I have for a ration book, exactly?" Jonathan asked pertly, smirking when he saw Geoffrey's eyes widen slightly, as if he'd remembered suddenly what Jonathan was. "If you like them, just take them with my compliments," he said. Considered a 'luxury', it had likely taken half the book to be able to purchase the pack of six. The rest of the book Jonathan had given to the aide who'd served as his runner as compensation - as well as a couple of crowns for the trouble. "If you're not in any pain right now, I'll leave you to your tea and biscuits. I have rounds to do."

Geoffrey nodded, and he watched Jonathan leave the room, listening to his footsteps moving down the tiled corridor, and then stopping - likely in one of the wards. He looked at the packet of Custard Creams. He did like them, and it had been an age since he'd last had them. "Bloody leech doctor," he muttered lowly as he picked up his cup. He smiled around the rim as he sipped at the warm liquid, thinking that maybe Jonathan Reid wasn't so bad. For a vampire. "Not enemies," he said on a soft chuckle. "Lord help me." He'd just started to doze off, wondering what Jonathan's bite might feel like compared to others he'd taken in his life, when a knock at the door startled him awake. His brow furrowed in confusion and his eyes quickly darted around the room, checking to make sure he was still in the hospital. "Millar?"

The sergeant nodded. "Yeah. Came to check on you. Bring you some of your things for when they finally spring you." He set a bag with some of Geoffrey's clothes on a countertop. "Part of the agreement we struck with Reid was that I was the only one allowed to visit; said he didn't want a bunch of the lads in here, causing a disturbance." He chuckled. "Smart leech. Though a bastard to negotiate with."

Geoffrey smirked. He wholeheartedly concurred - and it irritated him every time he agreed to hear the raven out. Any other vampire, he would just eliminate, no questions asked. But when it came to Jonathan, he was somewhat willing to compromise. Sometimes. "He knows you're here then?"

"Aye. Told me where you were, said I could have half an hour, no more. Bastard probably has a timer running." Millar sobered. "We didn't want to send you away with him, but…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"Yeah, about that," Geoffrey said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I thought I'd made it abundantly clear that you and the others were to mind your own?"

"You did," Millar said. "And when you're back, I'll willingly answer for it. But we look after our own, yeah? Maybe not what you wanted, but it was what you needed; you really were this side of fucked, McCullum, and I talked Bates into giving me permission."

Geoffrey snorted. "I should be livid, considering you delivered me right into a leech's hands. But I'd look like a right prick to punish you for trying to save my life."

Millar gave a respectful tilt of his chin at that, and pointing to the teapot he asked, "Mind?" When Geoffrey shook his head, Millar looked around, and seeing a clean, lidded specimen jar on a shelf, he went over and grabbed it. After taking the top off and sniffing it tentatively, he shrugged, and then poured in the last of the pot, and what milk there was. "Ah, it does in a pinch."

"It's probably that jar you're trying to pass off as a cup, you savage. I thought it was decent enough." He didn't mention to Millar that he'd had his made for him.

Millar chuckled. "As I said, does in a pinch." He looked seriously at the brunet. "But how are you? Doing all right? They treating you proper?"

"Yeah, I'm all right. In fact, I feel pretty good, truth told."

"Well, you look better than you did last night. Hell, for the past few days. The change is amazing." Millar narrowed his eyes, his tone suspicious. "What'd he do to you? He didn't do anything… _leechy_ did he?"

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. "Oh for fuck's sake, no! If you're going to ask stupid questions, get the hell away from me!" He thought for a moment, and then shrugged. "He gave me some drugs for the fever, and then he's been treating an infection." He didn't see the need to go into more detail than that. It was already a surreal feeling to know that Jonathan had been treating his blood and not turning into a ravenous beast. He didn't want to have to explain something he didn't completely understand himself to Millar.

Millar nodded as he took another drink of his tea. "Well, thank God for that."

"Yeah. The treatment, he's some sort of expert, and he thinks it might be gone. But he says he has to run more tests before he lets me go."

Millar snorted. "Fucking doctors and their tests! They're just as bad as the God damned vampires with their blood sampling!"

Geoffrey snorted in amusement. "Yeah. Though God willing, I'll be out of here in a day or two."

"That's good," Millar said as he sat on the stool. "It's been crazy the past few days. Patrols are reporting more and more of those bloody skals roaming around the streets, and we've seen a few more of those big buggers like we encountered in that abandoned tunnel. We cleaned out a nest of 'em up by Stonebridge. They're not like any of the leeches I'm used to. It's like they're just…eating machines. No intelligence at all. If you light them on fire, they just stand there and let themselves burn. At least they're easy enough to kill, but Christ, the smell of it..." He finished his tea and put the jar on Geoffrey's tray. Crossing an ankle over at the knee, Millar filled Geoffrey in on the things he'd missed over the past few days, and even told him how Jonathan had been shot when he'd come to check him.

Jonathan had neglected to mention that particular part of his visit. And though Geoffrey had been pissed to hear that one of his men had reacted in such a way, he'd still laughed when Millar had told him, betting that the put-out expression on Jonathan's face had been priceless - not to mention the look on Thompson's face as he'd watched the raven pull a bullet from his own body. "Tell Thompson we'll be having a little chat, him and me. He needs to understand, Reid is mine." Geoffrey felt a bit of heat flash through his body with the vehemence of his words, his mind unhelpfully supplying him with images of just what, in the right context, that might entail. He cleared his throat, and not quite meeting Millar's eyes, he said, "Make sure the place doesn't go to shit before I get back, yeah?"

Millar nodded. "I'll do my best, Sir. Just make sure you get well and get your arse home. We're managing okay, but it's not the same without you." He glanced towards the doorway when he saw Jonathan discreetly hovering around just the other side of the threshold. After glancing at his watch, he looked at Geoffrey and offered a pert smirk. "What'd I say, yeah?" Chuckling, he stood. "I'll be back. Tomorrow - unless we learn something good tonight." He smiled. "It's good to see you, McCullum. I'll let the others know; if you get out early, have them send a messenger." He turned to leave, pausing in the corridor to speak to Jonathan. "Never thought I'd be thanking a leech for anything, but…" He nodded. "He looks all right."

Jonathan gave a slight downward tilt of his chin. "God willing, that will continue," he said. "Good evening, Sergeant Millar." He entered Geoffrey's room, pausing mid-step and a brow arching when he saw the crooked smirk. Narrowing his eyes and cocking his head to the side slightly, he drawled, "What?"

"Hey Reid, I heard about your little adventure when you came to our headquarters. Guess you don't have the stomach for dealing with Priwen, eh?"

Jonathan snorted softly. "I'm sure you don't care, but I didn't particularly appreciate being shot for trying to help."

"You're right. I don't care."

Jonathan's brows went up in surprise at the matter-of-factness of the response, and then he shook his head in amusement. "God, must you always be so obnoxious?" he asked with a smirk. "Obnoxious or obstinate - seems with you, I get one or the other, even when I have you on medication." 

"Ah, but I do love tormenting you, Reid - especially if I'm bored and stuck here in your company. Though admit it; you wouldn't have me any other way."

Jonathan arched a brow and smirked. "At this point, so long as you're alive, I'll take you any way I can have you," he teased, and the smirk widened, lips parting to give a brief flash of fang when he saw the other's eyes widen and heard the slight intake of breath. "Consider it mutual, McCullum." He went to push the mayo stand out of the way, but paused when Geoffrey took the packet of biscuits and set it on the blanket beside him.

"Millar finished my tea," Geoffrey said simply, as if that explained everything.

Jonathan nodded. "Ah. Well that explains the specimen jar." He rolled the stand out of the way, and then set the Custard Creams on the small nightstand next to the bed. "When we're finished here, I'll order you another pot." He checked Geoffrey's vitals and noted them on his chart. They seemed normal, and Jonathan wasn't detecting anything out of the ordinary. "I need to draw a blood sample to analyse," he said, and he retrieved a syringe and a length of rubber tubing. "Okay?" He saw the stiff nod, and before Geoffrey could change his mind, he tied the tubing around his arm and quickly drew out what he would need. Setting the syringe aside, he pressed the injection site until it had stopped bleeding, and he glanced at the man's arm. It was a mess of bruises from the various injections, samples, and treatment lines he'd been subjected to. He felt a modicum of compassion for the brunet; Geoffrey really hadn't complained about that particular part of it all, and Jonathan hoped that he wouldn't have to endure too many more. He set the syringe on the bench, and then stepped out into the hall to ask the duty nurse for another pot of tea.

Geoffrey's brow furrowed as he watched Jonathan draw his blood into the syringe. He remained quiet while the raven worked, silently observing both the man himself and what he was doing. He was curious about the process, and the longer this went on, the more he was starting to trust Jonathan with his doctoring, but there was still a part of him that remained wary. How could he not? Jonathan was a vampire, and they were dealing with blood. He would see the slight tightening at the corners of Jonathan's eyes as he worked, he would watch how Jonathan would clench his jaw tightly, glance away just slightly whenever he'd catch the scent on the air. A couple of times during the course of his treatments - the initial visit and this one - he'd even witnessed Jonathan growl. He'd not so much heard it as he'd felt the slight vibration from it, and it always sent a slight thrill down his spine - a combination of exhilaration and apprehension as he waited to see what Jonathan would do. And this time, like every other time, Jonathan did nothing. He resisted his vampire nature. While Jonathan spoke with the nurse, he looked down at his arm. The injection site wept a little, and he absently brushed the drop of blood away with his hand, stilling when Jonathan came back into the room. He let his gaze drift across the various pieces of equipment, and then he asked, "So, you run it under the microscope now?"

Jonathan smiled. "I will. But I can't analyse it just straight from the syringe. I have to prepare the sample."

"Oh." He glanced to the side when the nurse came to take away his dinner tray, and when she came back a couple of minutes later with a fresh pot of tea, he gave her a nod of thanks. He poured a cup, and opened his biscuits, but didn't touch them, more interested in what Jonathan was doing. "If it doesn't distract you, explain to me what you're doing. I've never seen any of this stuff before."

Jonathan glanced up at him, a brow arched, and then nodded, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. "It doesn't distract me. It's no different than when I would lecture." As he worked to prepare the sample, he told Geoffrey what he was doing, what chemicals he would add to the sample, and what the point of it all was.

Geoffrey listened with rapt attention as Jonathan talked him through the process, his sharp mind mentally filing away the details. He didn't understand all of the clinical aspects of it, and his bed wasn't an optimal vantage point, but that didn't matter. He was learning a bit more about what had happened to him, and how Jonathan was making sure he was better. Jonathan was just explaining how he prepared the microscope slides, and why he prepared multiple samples to confirm the results, when Edgar came into the room, a notebook in hand. Geoffrey frowned when he saw him, effectively shutting down communication with a muttered, "Shit." He had to hand it to the man; he was aces at ruining a perfectly good moment.

"So, how's our little patient doing?" Edgar asked brightly.

"Go to hell, Swansea," Geoffrey snarked as he picked up his tea. "I'm not yours. Never will be."

"My, someone's rather foul-tempered," Edgar replied. "Perhaps a nice sedative to help you sleep through the night would be beneficial. It certainly couldn't hurt."

"Don't you touch me, leech," Geoffrey replied. "Just because I've got the flu, it doesn't mean I'm no longer a threat. Get on with what you're doing, and get out. I'm trying to heal, and I can't with all this…distraction." He stared at Edgar for a moment, and when the older doctor turned his back to him and opened his notebook, Geoffrey picked up a biscuit and dunked it in his tea.

Jonathan indulged in a private smirk as he loaded one of the slides into the microscope. Even though Geoffrey was feigning disinterest as he ate his snack, it didn't mean he'd stopped observing. Jonathan could tell he was still watching, and listening. "You have _impeccable_ timing," he said. "I just finished with the fifth slide. Vitals looked good, other than the bit of fluid in the lungs. I didn't observe anything out of the ordinary."

Edgar adjusted his glasses as he looked Geoffrey over, his lips pursed slightly. "Yes, he does seem to be in reasonable health, doesn't he?" he said, and then smiled. "But, what do our slides tell us?"

The two spent the next several minutes carefully studying each slide, looking for anything abnormal. After about fifteen minutes, Jonathan sat back and smiled. "This one is clean, too. No detected anomalies."

"Yes," Edgar drawled. "So it would seem." He frowned as he glanced at Geoffrey, and then turned back to Jonathan. "I suppose you're pleased with the prognosis."

"It's still a bit early, as you said, but I am. How could I not be? If this works, the only trouble I see going forward is having a large enough supply of clean blood. We were fortunate here; he could match with anyone. If we were to get a patient with a different blood type, that could make things…problematic."

"Let's not put the cart before the horse, Jonathan. We're off to a good start, but I'm not prepared to start typing all the patients just yet." He smiled, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "Keep up the good work. I'll be back in four hours, unless something changes."

Jonathan waited until Edgar had left, taking his time with tidying up his equipment, and then went back to Geoffrey. "It's good news so far," he said. "Though I'm sure you heard."

Geoffrey nodded as he brushed the crumbs from his hands. "I heard. How many more before I can go?"

Jonathan briefly toyed with the tip of a canine. "Doctor Swansea says you need twenty-four hours without signs of reinfection."

"Twenty- Jesus Christ!" Geoffrey glanced down at his arm. "I'm starting to think the cure is worse than the disease!"

"I know. And I am sorry for it."

Geoffrey scoffed. "No you're not," he drawled scornfully. "You're loving this. Poetic justice, for the grief I've given you, right?"

Jonathan's gaze held the darker blue. "Do you _really_ believe that?"

Geoffrey's jaw clenched as he stared back. "I'm not answering that," he said as he forced himself to look away.

Jonathan nodded, but he did smile a little. "You should rest. I want to give you another dose of medicine to take care of that fluid in your lungs, see if we can't clear it up. It might even help you sleep a little."

"Do what you want, Doctor Reid. I'll trust you, but the Lord help you if you let that bastard do anything to me."

"You're my patient. That won't happen."

Geoffrey nodded, his eyes closing for a moment when Jonathan injected him with the serum. "Good." It didn't take long before he could feel the drugs in his system, and they made his head feel comfortably gauzy, his thoughts vague and unfocused. He adjusted his pillow and lay back against it, letting his eyes grow heavy. "So, you wouldn't care if, like later on, I got rid of Swansea, eh?" He smiled. "Ah, that'll be a good day."

Jonathan shook his head as he adjusted the blanket. "The only immortal I would fight you on is Lady Ashbury."

Geoffrey's eyes opened wide when he heard that. "Ah. So you and the Lady, then? Hm." That thought disappointed him much more than it should have. And maybe irritated him just a little.

Jonathan's brows shot for his hairline. "What?" A bit of heat crept into his cheeks. "N-no, it's not like that," he said quickly as he shook his head. "Lady Ashbury was very kind to me when I was…reborn. She indulged my questions and helped me through some…difficult times. She is my friend, and I love her. But I am not _in love_ with her. She's a very good, dear, sweet friend, but nothing more than that."

"Hn." Geoffrey considered that for a few moments. "I suppose your kind isn't really capable of that sort of thing anyway. The damned don't love." He felt somewhat embittered by that; he should have known better, really.

"You're wrong." Jonathan saw the dark blue shift to look at him. "We are capable of love. We feel emotions. Very strongly. I'd even say that ours are more intense than those of a human. We laugh. Cry. Feel pain. Love. Hurt."

Geoffrey studied him for a long while, watching his eyes. He'd observed it before in Jonathan - his eyes seemed cold and distant, but if he looked long enough, he could see there was emotion behind them. He wondered what it would look like to see those eyes unguarded. He wondered how one could unlock it, because he _wanted_ to see it. He shifted his gaze forward then, and snorted, dismissing the thought as foolish. He felt vulnerable. And, as always happened when his heart got involved, his mouth quickly took over and turned him into an asshole. "Heh. Good to know," he said, and he closed his eyes for a slow blink. "I'll be sure to remember that in the future. If I can hurt you, it means I can beat you." His eyes cracked open just enough to see the surprised expression on Jonathan's face, though he took no pleasure in it. He felt a bit like a bastard for it, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize for it, either. Unable to fight the narcotics any longer, his eyelids grew heavy, and as he fell into a doze, his last conscious thought flitted unfiltered through his mind:

_I don't want to hurt you…_

"Then get better." Jonathan ran a hand back through Geoffrey's hair, just once, and then he stood. Leaving the brunet to sleep, he went to do another round in the ward. When he returned, there was still another hour before he needed to do the next draw, though when he saw a faint sheen of sweat on Geoffrey's brow, he frowned in concern. Approaching him, he felt his forehead, found his pulse to be rapid and shallow. He saw that Geoffrey's bite wound had started to seep, staining the bandage, and his heart sank. "No. No, no no…" he murmured, and he went to the door, calling for one of the duty nurses. "Two ice packs, right now," he commanded, and then went to Geoffrey's side to pull the sample early. He hoped the fever was just because Geoffrey's body was fighting the pneumonia, but with this case, he knew it wouldn't be.

The nurse came back and helped Jonathan get the ice packs placed. At the very least, the cooling should stave off any delirium and keep the fever from burning out of control. Turning to the woman, he said, "Find Doctor Swansea. I need his help immediately."

"Yes, Doctor."

Moving to the bench, Jonathan emptied the syringe into a flask, and he made a face. He could tell from the smell of it that the infection was present. Quickly, he started preparing the sample for analysis. "…Damn it! Not now…"


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Nothing beyond fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> Ahem. Well...um... ^_^;;;
> 
> All I have to say is stubborn!Geoffrey is stubborn and persistent!Jonathan is persistent.
> 
> As you work your way through this chapter my dears, keep in mind the Kübler-Ross model for the Five Stages of Grief. You've probably heard of it from TV and movies, even if you're not completely familiar with it. To be all nerdy for a second, she postulated that there are five emotional stages a person goes through when faced with death or grief:
> 
>   * Denial
>   * Anger
>   * Bargaining
>   * Depression
>   * Acceptance
> 

> 
> (I'm sure most of you can guess which stage dear Geoffrey favours... ¬_¬ )
> 
> So...enjoy his emotional adventures, and bear in mind that the model has been tweaked over the years. Stages aren't necessarily chronological or linear... ~_^
> 
> Aaaaand, with that, I will leave you to it, and hope that you're enjoying the direction things are progressing. I'm sorry, but I will continue to toy with your tender hearts, leave you in twists, and have you cursing my name for leaving you hanging... **grin** I can bear it. I just hope that by the end, you'll forgive me for being such a bastard. ♥
> 
> Thank you so much for all the love. It's returned in spades, my darlings. **mwah!** xoxo

"The infection has definitely returned," Edgar said as he moved away from the microscope, and he glanced over at his colleague when he got no response. "Jonathan?"

Jonathan abruptly stood and paced over to the window, looking out into the darkness. He scrubbed a hand through his hair in agitation as he squeezed his eyes closed, and then, after finger-combing it back down, he turned. "There must be _something_ we've missed. Something else we could try. Maybe something that could kill the infection. Or maybe a longer transfusion time."

"Jonathan," Edgar said gently, almost compassionately, as he came over to join the raven and laid a hand on his forearm. "You have done all you could. More than anyone else would have. There is nothing more to be done. He is mortal, and mortals die from illnesses all the time. You have to accept the reality of the situation and let him go. We may have lost this battle, and we will likely lose more as the epidemic progresses, but we can still continue to fight the war."

"War!" Jonathan sneered as he pulled his arm free. "No, Edgar. This is worse than any war, and we're not soldiers, most certainly not heroes. We're destroyers." He gestured around the space. " _We're_ the ones who created this weapon, and set it loose on the streets of London. And then, when the chaos descended, we offered false hope and a bandage, told these people they would get better when we knew their prognosis would likely be _so much_ worse." He practically spat the last, his disgust evident.

"That's a little melodramatic, don't you think?"

"We've condemned people to become irrational, savage, mindless beasts. I'd say my reaction is warranted," Jonathan said coolly.

"You must believe me, I am not the villain here. I was not looking to harm the populace. I was certain it would work, the science was sound, and the situation as you know was dire. I only had the best of intentions when I started this little experiment." He forced a smile. "In a way, I'm like Edison. I know what way doesn't work, and that is progress." 

Jonathan barely managed not to roll his eyes at the comparison. "Yes, Edgar. So you've said. And like most good intentions, we now find ourselves trapped on the road to hell." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his index finger idly tracing along his lower lip in thought as he studied Geoffrey. "No. I can't accept this."

"It would be poetic irony," Edgar remarked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The leader of Priwen, reduced to an infected gutter skal and left to feast on rotting corpses, despised and hunted by his own brothers. He has looked down on our kind for years, thinking himself so far above us. He judged us, killed indiscriminately, refused to even try to understand us, started a war with anyone who opposed him...Do you know that right now, both the Brotherhood and the Ascalon Club are preparing to fight him?" There was a callous upturn of lips as he looked at the brunet. "To see him as the lowest of the low, it would be poetic."

Jonathan stared at him in disbelief. "Yes, his ideas are radical, and his methods extreme, but for as misguided as he may be, he still is attempting to protect England and her people. To wish that fate on someone, it truly makes us the monsters, Edgar." Jonathan didn't even want to get into a discussion with Edgar about his elitist opinion of skals - it didn't matter if he was referring to the true sewer skals, or the ones that had been made by the virus.

"If I am a monster for thinking it, then so be it," Edgar said with no modicum of remorse. "But if Geoffrey McCullum falls, without their leader the Guard will descend into chaos. They will no longer be a threat. And with one less reason to be looking over our shoulders, it will be easier to focus on finding an end to this calamity."

"Or they will grow stronger in their grief, _blame us_ for his death, and continue the hunt with renewed vigor. You underestimate their dedication to him. But I've seen it, Edgar. They would follow him to the mouth of hell and spit on the devil himself if he asked them to." He saw the disbelieving arch of a brow, and he shook his head in resignation. "Then we agree to disagree. If you wish to do nothing further, then I thank you for the assistance you've given me until now. I…will think of something."

"Jonathan, now you're just being stubborn. You've made this personal." He wrinkled his nose disdainfully.

"Yes. But until I'm completely out of options, I will continue to try to save him. And if I can't…" Jonathan clenched his jaw, not able to finish the thought.

"Guilt is such a _mortal_ thing, Jonathan. If you would truly embrace what you are, you would have a much easier time letting go of it." Edgar sighed heavily. "This whole McCullum thing has caused quite a rift between us, and I do regret that it's progressed this far. You are important to me, Jonathan, and I don't want to lose your friendship completely. So if you think there is something you can still do at this stage of his illness, then by all means, try. But I will not be a party to this fool's errand any longer. You are on your own with this one."

"It has," Jonathan agreed. "And I understand; I would not ask you to continue with something you didn't believe in." Truth told, Jonathan was quite agreeable to the idea of not having Edgar around. For one thing, with as much as Edgar obviously hated Geoffrey, he had his doubts as to how 'helpful' the man would even be. Besides, Jonathan could feel his patience with the man starting to prickle, and the last thing he wanted was to lose his temper.

Edgar licked his lower lip. "When this is over, I would like it if you and I could sit down and talk? See if we can't rebuild what has been damaged?"

Jonathan felt he had a better chance at curing Geoffrey's infection than he did of reconnecting with Edgar, and at that moment, he wasn't exactly inclined to be charitable. "Perhaps. When this is over, we'll discuss it then."

Edgar stared long and hard at Jonathan for several long seconds, and when the raven said nothing more, he glanced briefly at Geoffrey and then nodded. "Very well. Good luck with your endeavour. I'm sure I'll hear how you made out before too much longer. One way, or another."

Jonathan's eyes narrowed as he silently watched him leave, not even bothering with saying goodbye. Once he was alone, he crossed over to Geoffrey's bed. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked the sleeping man. "I don't want to admit it, but Edgar's right. I don't know what more I _can_ do for you. Not with the time I have." He studied the brunet's face for several moments. "There's maybe one thing I could do. If you'd let me. You wouldn't like it, though." He ran his fingers through the dark, sweat dampened bangs, pulling his hand back quickly when the eyes slitted open. He watched the dark blue glance around and then focus in on him. "Geoffrey," he smiled.

"Reid?" The corners of his mouth turned up briefly when he saw the nod. "Good. Thought I'd heard that prick's voice beaking off; must've been a nightmare." He slowly licked his lower lip. "Can you turn down the heat in here? I'm bloody dying," Geoffrey murmured thickly. His throat was parched, his voice coming out slightly raspy.

Jonathan offered a small smile, despising the unfortunate choice of phrase. "I'm afraid I can't. But if you can sit up, I can give you a glass of water?"

"Yeah, all right." He managed to push himself into a sitting position. "Must still be sick if you're still bringing me drinks. Can't say I mind that part so much."

Jonathan poured him a glass from the pitcher that sat on the nightstand and handed it to him. Geoffrey quickly downed the contents and then silently held the glass out to be refilled. Jonathan arched a brow, not having expected him to finish it so fast, but he took the glass and poured more water. "Slowly now," he said before he handed it back to him.

This time, Geoffrey took a more reasonable sip from the glass. "I feel like I'm on fire from the inside." He took another bigger drink, and then finished off the glass with the third swallow. "But at least I can breathe okay. Whatever you gave me must've done the trick." He saw the uncomfortable expression on Jonathan's face, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What?"

Jonathan clenched his jaw tightly. "The medication I gave you, it may be helping some with the pneumonia. But the infection I'd found in your blood earlier, it's still there."

"Not possible," Geoffrey said dismissively. "You said my blood was good."

"No, I said it _appeared_ clean. And I also told you we needed to monitor you for twenty-four hours to make sure the treatment worked."

Geoffrey felt a small flicker of panic on hearing he was still sick, which quickly transformed to anger. "How could that have happened? I thought you were supposed to be some sort of 'expert' in this field? All this modern technology, radical treatments…"

Jonathan had seen that reaction countless times whenever he would have to give a patient bad news, and he was used to being the target; people needed to blame _something_. But just because he understood Geoffrey's anger under the circumstances, it didn't mean that the accusations didn't still sting. "The treatment I gave you, it reduced the amount of the virus present in your system, and it helped to slow its spread, but I warned you that it doesn't work for everything. Even if just a bit of infected blood remained somewhere in your body, it would only be a matter of time before you started showing symptoms again, and that's what has happened here. Viruses are small, and difficult to detect. That's why we insist on doing multiple tests over a long period of time."

Geoffrey frowned. "So you made a mistake."

Jonathan shook his head slowly. "No. Everything was handled with proper care. It's just that not every infection can be cured this way. This one, it's like pulling a prolific weed. On the surface, it may appear to be gone, but if even a trace of the root remains, it starts to grow again. This infection, no matter how many times I may pluck it, it will keep coming back."

"So then hook me back up to your tubes," Geoffrey said, the frown deepening. "I don't care if it hurts. I can take it. Might work with a second dose."

"I can't do that."

"Can't, or won't?" Geoffrey demanded, his eyes narrowing. After a moment, he snorted irritably. "That's what I get for trusting a leech."

"Damn it, Geoffrey, you're killing me," Jonathan murmured quietly as he closed his eyes for a moment in helpless frustration. "Yes, I _could_ hook you back up to the transfusion apparatus, give you a fresh supply of blood, but as soon as I stop the treatments, the infection is simply going to take over again. And that's assuming that the virus doesn't become more aggressive to where the transfusions become ineffective, too." Jonathan forced himself to meet the angry blue, and his heart broke a little as he saw the disappointment, could feel it fuelling the learned hatred and mistrust that simmered just below the surface. "At this point, the only thing additional treatments would do for you would be to keep your symptoms at bay, for however long that may last. And to do that, you'd be confined to this room, not able to go anywhere. What sort of life would that be for you, to sit here and wait to see if I can stop the virus before it stops you?" He glanced away, and clenched his jaw tightly. "So, that's why I say that I can't. It's not because I don't want to, but because I just _can't_. I wish I could, but I am out of options."

Geoffrey was quiet for a moment as he studied Jonathan. He knew what he was hearing was the truth - but it was a partial truth. "There's more, isn't there?" He scowled. "You're hiding something, Reid. I know it. What _aren't_ you telling me? Out with it."

Jonathan nodded stiffly. "Very well. But answer me a question first. What do you really know about this vampire epidemic plaguing London?"

Geoffrey gave him a curious look. "I told you all this before, that night in the hospital. Our investigation showed that you and Swansea created a plague to destroy the city, to complete the job that William Marshall couldn't. Doris Fletcher was your first experiment, and she was the one creating all the skals. At least you had the sense to kill it when you realized you couldn't control it."

Jonathan exhaled heavily, barely avoiding rolling his eyes. "Yes, Priwen's 'investigation'," he said flatly. He'd admit that their ability to source information was good, but their habit of twisting their findings to align with their doctrine versus the truth left much to be desired. "And what do _you_ believe?"

Geoffrey frowned. "I'm…not sure. I know Pembroke has something to do with all of this, but-" The frown deepened. "I know Swansea's got something to do with it. I know it started here. As for you…" He trailed off with an uncertain shake of his head. He didn't _really_ believe Jonathan was responsible. He had at one point, but not anymore. And while he was relieved to know that a man - _vampire_ \- he actually liked wasn't to blame, part of him wished he was. Right now, things were complicated. Geoffrey didn't understand why he was having these ridiculous changes of heart, or why decisions that had been so clear to him at one point suddenly seemed so muddled and had taken on rather inconvenient shades of grey. If Jonathan was guilty, it would irrefutably confirm the belief structure Geoffrey had clung so tightly to for all these years. _Leeches are vermin and not to be trusted._ It would justify his killing him. _Never an ally, and certainly never a friend, for they will betray you._ And in time, he could harden his heart again and learn to ignore the way Jonathan had made him feel. _Show no mercy, no compassion, no understanding. Lower your guard, and the beasts will exploit you…_ All of it was starting to make him feel like his head was about to explode and irritably, he pushed one of the ice packs off of him. "I don't see your point," he said crossly, his tone dismissive.

Jonathan sighed softly at the relative non-answer. "Your information is flawed, and incomplete. Doris was the first victim. But she was not the original carrier. Killing the original carrier would certainly control the spread of the infection, but those skals still roaming the streets, they still carry the virus within them, and when they bite, there is the potential that they will pass it on to their victim - if that person is fortunate enough to survive the attack." His expression was grim. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Geoffrey snorted derisively. "You seriously expect me to believe that? That I have some sort of… _skal sickness_? Ridiculous. I'm not a vampire, and that's not even possible."

Carl Eldritch had done an excellent job of conditioning Geoffrey to fastidiously cling to the tenets of learned propaganda in favour of blatant logic. Jonathan could tell that Geoffrey was conflicted over what he believed versus what he thought he _should_ believe, and to watch the mental struggle was both impressive and baffling to him. But since they'd met, Jonathan had succeeded in putting small cracks in that foundation that were beginning to widen. He just didn't know if he'd be able to make the brunet see reason before it was too late. "That's true. You're not. Yet. It _shouldn't_ be possible, but it _is_ , the result of an intended cure becoming something much worse than the disease it was meant to control. I don't know if it's the result of bad science, or supernatural factors, or the two working in tandem, but this…infection, it's carried in a person along with the influenza virus, and in time, it kills its host and turns them." Jonathan's brow furrowed, a sadness creeping into his eyes.

Geoffrey's face paled and his blood ran cold. "No! No, it’s not possible!" Angrily, he threw back the blanket and sat on the edge of the bed, facing Jonathan, his eyes dark and reproachful. " _You_ said you could heal me, and now you tell me I'm turning into a fucking leech?" A disgusted look crept across his face. "If that is so, then kill me now. I'd rather be dead than spend a fucking eternity like that. Like you."

The other's words hurt. "Killing you won't stop it. If you die, you will be reborn, but you won't be like me. You'll be a skal. An unstable one. With time, you'll start to lose your mind, eventually becoming like the thing that bit you. A feral beast." Jonathan paused. "Short term, I can treat your symptoms, keep you comfortable, but make no mistake. You _are_ dying. I can see it when I look at you. 

"Well, quit it," Geoffrey snarled angrily, the sound borne of frustration and helplessness. "You're wrong."

"I'm not! For God's sake, look at your wounds if you require proof! I treated them all, they were well on their way to healing, and you can see for yourself that they've opened and are starting to weep. I've tried everything I know of, and I cannot stop the process."

Geoffrey looked at his arms, and the sores that had developed along with the bruising. He brought a hand up to touch his throat, his eyes widening when he felt the wetness on the bandage. He looked at his fingers for a moment, lightly rubbing his thumb against the pads, then his eyes narrowed accusingly as he sneered, " _You_ did this to me!"

"I didn't! I swear it!" Jonathan pled earnestly. "Everything I have done has been to try to save your life."

"Don't swear to me, leech! Your words are meaningless!" Geoffrey replied coldly. "If you can't fix me, _doctor_ , then you will find a way to kill me. Cut out my heart so I can't be reborn as… _that_." He spat the last word, as if just the thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Jonathan gaped for a moment, and then his own gaze narrowed slightly. "No," he said. "I will do nothing of the sort. If you want to die, then you do it by your own hand. I will not become a murderer for you just so that you can die believing me to be a monster."

"And what makes you think I don't already?" Geoffrey asked defiantly.

Jonathan knew that the brunet was being deliberately prickish, and he stared hard at the other for several long moments. He saw the sweat bead on his brow, watched him shiver as he sat obstinately on the edge of the bed, ignoring him, and it broke his heart. He took a deep breath, knowing the reaction was going to be explosive. "There is…one thing I could do for you."

Geoffrey let his eyes shift to their corners as he stared stonily at the raven. A disbelieving snort sounded. "Yeah? I'm listening. Speak up."

"I'm an Ekon. My blood is stronger than that of a skal. If I turn you first, you would not become…that. You would become like…me."

Geoffrey's eyes widened, and he turned to look fully at Jonathan, shocked still by the very idea. At least until his anger returned, washing over his raw emotions like a comforting balm. "No! There is no _fucking_ way I would ever want to be a leech like you!"

Jonathan blinked in surprise at the vehement response, and then his own worry and frustration caught up with him, and irritably, he stood and bared his fangs at Geoffrey. "Are you _really_ that stubborn that you would let yourself respawn as a mindless skal over accepting my help? Not that you would be reborn long enough to really have time to comprehend your new existence because I _would_ make sure you were dead. Permanently." He scowled. 

Geoffrey's expression turned coldly smug. "So I could get you to kill me after all, couldn't I? I figured you'd come around to your nature in the end, beast. Just needed to be a bit patient."

"Damn it, I will not give you the satisfaction of proving your ridiculous point! _If_ that is the path you choose to follow, I will surrender you to the Guard of Priwen, and they can…take care of you." Jonathan agitatedly rubbed at the furrow that had appeared between his brows. "You're a brilliant, sharp, deadly mind, Geoffrey McCullum, but sometimes I think you're the daftest arse I've ever met! Yes, it's true that if you take my help, you'll be cursed to the same fate as me, but you don't have to be like other vampires. You could be like me. You could still carry on with your work."

"I-" Geoffrey paused, and for a fraction of a second, he actually seriously considered what Jonathan was saying before his anger exploded once more. "Bullshit!" he exclaimed. "This whole situation, it's bullshit, Reid! You're lying!"

Jonathan clenched his one hand into a tight fist, trying to resist the urge to grab the brunet and shake some sense into him. "Geoffrey, _why_ would I lie about something like this? What _possible_ motivations would I have?"

Geoffrey really couldn't come up with a decent answer, but still, he snorted contemptuously. "Your kind are all liars. It's how you work. It's why your kind can _never_ be trusted on anything. It's why I will never trust _you_. It's why I will always despise you," he hissed, the last words coming out as pure venom.

Jonathan felt as if he'd just had the fight completely knocked out of him with the last, and he gave a stiff nod. "I see," he said quietly. "I may be deceptive by nature, evasive by habit, but I have never lied to you, Geoffrey. Not even now, knowing that a beautiful lie would have hurt you less than the ugly truth I presented." He offered a slight upturn of lips, though the smile was flat. "I want to look at you, and tell you everything is going to be okay, and you're going to get better. But I can't. Because…you won't." The last words came out slightly tremulous, the lack of sleep and sustenance taxing what remained of his self-control. "Gah!" he growled before there was a brief puff of black smoke, and he stood at the window, his back to Geoffrey. He'd been less upset when he'd killed Mary. Both times.

Despite his own anger, Geoffrey cocked his head to the side in curiosity when Jonathan moved away quickly. He got somewhat shakily to his feet, shivering worse as his bare feet hit the cold tile. He moved a hand slightly, as if to reach out towards Jonathan, then saw the bruising on his arm, clenched his hand into a fist, and turned away, heading for the bag Millar had brought him instead. "Pretty words, leech," he said coolly as he found his trousers and pulled them on, leaving them open as he stripped off the gown and rummaged for his shirt. "Was that supposed to make me change my mind? I should take you up on your _generous_ offer? It'll take more than that, beast." He arched a brow when he saw his revolver tucked into the bottom of the bag, and he smiled a little. _Bless you, Millar,_ he thought as he strapped it to his belt.

"No," Jonathan said sadly. "I don't know that it's possible for you to change your mind, really. They were just words, spoken…honestly." _Spoken from the heart,_ he added silently, and mortified, he dashed the back of his hand over his cheek, curling his fingers inwards when he saw the slight smudge of red. Edgar had been right - everything he'd done had gone beyond the limits of what he'd do for another patient. It _had_ been personal. But Jonathan didn't care. He had been desperate not to lose Geoffrey - to the sickness, or worse, forever. At first, Jonathan believed it had simply been curiosity and the call of the blood. Jonathan still wanted that more than anything, but he wanted the man, too. All of him. It was why he'd made the offer in the first place. "It won't change anything, you know."

Geoffrey finished buttoning up his shirt, and threw on his heavy trench coat, his eyes sinking closed for a moment of relief as the warmth of the garment enveloped him. "What the hell are you on about?" he asked as he sat down on the stool to put on his socks and boots.

Jonathan turned around to face him, though he kept his head bowed slightly, his gaze downcast. "Running away from here. It won't change the outcome." He glanced up at Geoffrey, studying his complexion, listening to his heart and his breathing. "Maybe speed up the process, but that's all."

"Fuck off. I'm not running away." Geoffrey's eyes narrowed in thought as he studied Jonathan. He looked genuinely upset. If it was a deception, it was probably the best Geoffrey had ever encountered. "You said there's nothing more to be done, so I'm done with this place."

Jonathan nodded. "I can't stop you. I told you before, you're not my prisoner."

"Damned right. Like any leech could make me its-" He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing further. "What happened to your hand?"

"What?" Jonathan glanced down. "Oh. That." As he quickly licked the blood away, he really wasn't surprised Geoffrey had noticed. He truly was exceptionally intuitive and very observant. "I told you earlier that vampires feel emotions more intensely than humans." He was exhausted, he was hungry, and he felt like he'd failed. He was done fighting his emotions, and giving up on even trying, he offered a humourless smile. "I suppose that means you win."

"Well…good," Geoffrey said slowly as he frowned, confused by the answer. He didn't understand. He studied Jonathan's expression, something seeming _off_ about it, and then it clicked:

_…If I can hurt you, it means I can beat you…_

Geoffrey understood. And he wished he didn't. His frown deepened, and he sneered as he refastened his bag, trying to ignore the twist he felt in his stomach with the realization as he set his jaw determinedly. "I'm not running away," he iterated, forcing the other uncomfortable thoughts away.

"Where will you go?" Jonathan asked. He saw Geoffrey glance at him as he slung the bag over his shoulder, and his brows went up. "Your men? You can't!"

"Not your call. Mind your own."

"Be reasonable and think about this for a minute. If you go back to them, they'll have no idea what you're going through and will be caught completely unprepared! How many good men will you kill before they're finally able to put you down? How many more will you infect? You won't be able to help yourself, but they'll see you as the thing you most hate! Maybe even something worse than that, because you'll feel nothing but rage and hunger as you tear them apart and betray the unwavering loyalty they had in you."

Geoffrey shook his head. "Won't come to that. I know what I'm doing." It sounded more confident than he felt. His eyes narrowed, and despite his fever, he stood proudly. "I'll be damned if I'll die in front of Swansea. I can't stomach the idea of seeing that fucking leech gloat." He closed his eyes for a second as a wave of nausea hit him, and without another word, he turned on his heel and strode purposefully from the room.

Jonathan watched him leave, knowing better than to try to stop him at this point. Geoffrey needed time and space to cool off. But that didn't mean he was simply going to let him go. He would take the brunet's anger and hatred and whatever else Geoffrey would hurl at him to try to hurt him, but he wouldn't abandon him. _You're not the only one who can be stubborn, McCullum,_ Jonathan thought to himself as he headed up the central staircase, bound for his room, and his overcoat.

Once outside, away from an audience, Geoffrey's bravado faded in the chilly November air. Shivering hard, he buttoned his coat and hunched into it a little, slipping his hands into the pockets as he walked away from Pembroke Hospital. _Damn you, Reid,_ he thought as he crossed the north bridge and started to head away from Whitechapel and Priwen Headquarters. The raven was right; he couldn't go back there. "Shit," he murmured aloud as he found himself without a plan. Not sure exactly _where_ to go now, he fell to his thoughts as he walked the streets. A few times he stopped in his tracks, thinking he'd heard someone following him, but he'd only seen a stray dog looting a trash bin, and later on, a couple of rats gnawing on a corpse. He'd grimaced in disgust at the image, and then tried to give himself a mental shake. He was jumping at shadows and on edge, and the longer he was outside, the more agitated he was starting to feel. Between the cold, the quiet, and the fact that he just felt shitty in general, he was beginning to think that leaving hadn't been his smartest of ideas - but he was too proud to go back. Eventually, he found himself at the entrance to Stonebridge Cemetery, and he sighed heavily as he pushed the wrought iron gate open and went inside. Geoffrey's pace slowed, and he huddled tighter into his coat as he walked along the groomed path. Cemeteries didn't bother him, but for some reason, the grounds always felt colder than anywhere else. 

There was only one destination he would go to in this place, and he began to walk towards his mentor's grave. In the distance, he could hear the shrieks of a couple of skals, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. Would he sound like that? A scowl curved his lips downward. It was an off-putting thought, and one he couldn't easily dismiss because the damned things wouldn't shut up! He gritted his teeth, and as he approached Carl Eldritch's monument, he found their noise beyond irritating. He could tell they were nearby, and mind made up, he headed _towards_ the sound. He would _make_ them silent - or he would die trying. At least falling in a fight had some inherent nobility to it, as opposed to standing around like a coward and waiting for the Reaper.

In a small depression on the other side of the path, he saw three skals, each of them eating a chunk of decaying flesh from some poor bastard that had at some point been torn apart. Pulling his revolver, he steeled his jaw, and deciding he would deal with them expediently, he made his way towards them. Crossing the space, he aimed and shot the first one in the heart. It let out a horrific screech before it dropped dead, and Geoffrey smirked, figuring it had to have hurt badly. "How do you like me now, you bastards?" he taunted, and he prepared himself as the two remaining skals stopped their gorging to turn and look at him. "Well? Come on then! Do something, you disgusting vermin!" he called, and when they simply turned away and went back to their meal, Geoffrey's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. Keeping his weapon at the ready, he moved closer, circling around to be in their direct line of sight. His expression turned to a disgusted grimace as they looked up at him and he saw their burned and oozing flesh. "Let's go! I'm right here, you bloody leeches!" Their lifeless eyes blinked stupidly at him for a moment, and then they again ignored him.

Lips curving down into a petulant frown when they refused to engage him, Geoffrey aimed at one of the skals and shot it in the lower spine, deliberately looking to wound it rather than kill it. His eyes narrowed and a cold smile curved his lips upward when it squealed in pain, and writhed for a moment on the ground. "That's right, bastard. Get up and fight me!" He waited, his patience waning and his anger growing as more time passed and nothing happened. Finally, when the beast had stopped screaming and went back to eating, Geoffrey blinked in shocked surprise, and then blind fury took over. He stalked over to a two-foot perimeter fence that surrounded an older grave, and with a snarl, he twisted out one of the wrought iron pickets, the rusty metal easily sliding out of the railing. Holstering his revolver, he stormed over to the skal he'd shot, gripped the iron rod in both hands, and swung it like a baseball bat at the monster's head. There was a sickening crunch of bone as the metal made contact, and he watched the blood arc as the picket spike caught the cheek and tore. He took a half step back, ready to parry, but when no retaliatory attack came, Geoffrey snarled in rage as he began to repeatedly bludgeon the skal, all his pent-up stress and frustration and fear over what was happening to him translating into a viciously brutal attack. Even after he'd completely decimated the head and the skal lay silent and motionless on the ground, he still continued to strike it. He could feel that the jagged metal had twisted in his hands, the iron biting into his palms and making them bleed, but he couldn't stop himself. Finally, with a primal shout, he drove the picket through the beast's heart and stepped back. He was sweating profusely, shaking with both chill and adrenaline, and struggling to breathe, but the release had been incredibly cathartic. Bending over, he rested the backs of his bloodied hands on his knees as he coughed violently, the barked hacks echoing in the stillness, until finally, he gagged, spat a mouthful of blood on the ground, and was able to stand up.

The third skal seemed to take an interest in him then, and even though he wasn't completely recovered from the previous melee, Geoffrey wiped the back of a trembling hand across his mouth to clear the blood, and got into a ready stance. He was glad to _finally_ have an opponent to face. "Yes! Come on, beast!" The skal approached, let out a shriek, and then dropped to all fours, scarred fingers dragging through the bloodied dirt where Geoffrey had spat before a blackened tongue began lapping up the blood. Geoffrey watched, stunned, and then he sneered as he pulled his revolver and shot the skal three times in the face in rapid succession. Exhausted, and beyond his breaking point, he closed his eyes and tipped his head skyward. " _Fuck_!" he shouted in aggravation to the night, and then with a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, he made his way back to Carl's grave. When he stopped, his tired legs gave out on him, and collapsing to his knees in front of the marker, he shook his head in frustration, finding the events of the past few hours incredibly surreal. 

"Carl, I - shit, I don't know what the hell's going on." In agitation, he ran his fingers back through his hair, and then bowed his head, not able to even look at the name of the man he'd greatly respected for so many years. "I remember everything you ever taught me, but this? Christ, this is…well…fucked up." Another one of those humourless, slightly hysterical laughs escaped him. "I shouldn't be surprised, really. The whole family wound up being killed by fucking leeches; guess it was my birthright to die the same way, yeah?" He inhaled sharply as he dashed his hand across his eyes, feeling overwhelmed by how fast everything seemed to be spiralling out of his control. "And yet, it was a fucking leech that tried to save me, too." He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he again thought about his fight with Reid in the hospital. Reid had hit him hard enough to where he'd definitely felt it, and he'd remembered that pain for several days after, but he'd not used claws nor fangs. When it was over, he remembered how adamantly he'd insisted that the raven would _never_ change his mind, and yet, when he honestly thought about it, he'd done _exactly_ that. Not completely, but at least where Jonathan Reid was concerned, he believed there was room for a bit of flexibility. "Carl, you know I loved you as if you were my own Da," he said, pausing for another coughing fit and hacking up more blood. "But, some of the things we do, that you and Kendal Stone put in place…I just don't know anymore. I met a leech that's capable of mercy. Who the hell would have thought it possible? What else would be possible, if I had more time?" Geoffrey smiled. "You'd be pissed as hell at me I know it, but I think we'll have to agree to disagree."

Geoffrey went quiet then, falling to his own thoughts as he contemplated his next move. He set the revolver on the grass in front of him, closing his eyes and just listening to the night unfolding around him. He knew what he had to do, and with a heavy sigh, he picked up the gun and pulled back the hammer. As he held the barrel against his temple, a small smile passed across his face as he thought about pale blue eyes and a soothing voice, of the walking contradiction that was Jonathan Reid. Dangerously lethal, and infinitely gentle. The only vampire he'd ever considered a friend. _Still intrigues me…in so many ways…_ he thought as he sat there, trying to will himself to pull the trigger. As the seconds continued to tick by, the gun started to feel heavier in his hand, the barrel wavering against his skull. He felt a hand land lightly on his shoulder, and he started in shock, not having heard anyone even approaching. Not thinking, but reacting, he quickly leaned back and pivoted his torso to shoot. His brows went up when Jonathan seemed to suddenly appear in front of him, having moved faster than his eye could follow, and he snorted and put the gun back against his temple. "Go away, Reid. I'm…busy."

"It's a harder thing to do than you think," Jonathan said kindly. He'd been quietly following the brunet since he'd left Pembroke, and he felt a little guilty for having been eavesdropping - particularly on Geoffrey's surface thoughts - but he wouldn't apologize for it. It had helped him better understand Geoffrey's drive - and the silent parts of it had simply been pleasing to hear.

"What the hell would you know about it?" Geoffrey demanded.

"I know enough to say that you're out of bullets." Jonathan couldn't help the hinted smirk.

Geoffrey's eyes went wide, then narrowed slightly as he did a mental count, and he snapped open the cylinder to verify. "Tch!" Snorting in disgust, he tossed the gun to the ground. 

Jonathan's lips parted slightly for a grin, and then he sobered. "Logistics aside, it's because you're a fighter at heart. You don't fear death or being killed in the execution of your duties, but you're a survivor. I saw it the night you were bitten. You could have used your last round on yourself, like now, but instead you decided you would go out fighting." He didn't have the heart to tell the brunet that his shot had missed by a mile, and if he hadn't been there to deal with the skal, Geoffrey would have been dead. "After all you've been through, suffered through, overcome…you would surrender now?" When Geoffrey didn't answer, but stared stonily at him, Jonathan chuckled softly. "Come on, let me see your hands."

Geoffrey curled his hands into fists and held them against his chest. "No. What's the point, even? They won't heal."

Jonathan moved closer to him and crouched down on one knee in front of him. "I'm a doctor; I can't help myself. It's in my nature," he said teasingly, using Geoffrey's words from his scorpion story. Meeting the blue eyes, he held out his hand and waited. A small smile crept across his features when, after several long moments, Geoffrey held out his hands, palms up, so Jonathan could look at them. He reached into the pocket of his overcoat for a roll of gauze, and he lightly wrapped the wound on the first hand. "Your stubbornness aggravates me to no end, but I think it's also one of your greatest assets," he said as he tied a knot in the bandage and turned to the second. "You just don't seem to know the meaning of the word 'cede' - even when you should. I see why your men follow you with such loyalty."

Geoffrey's brow furrowed, and he bowed his head forward, dropping his gaze to a point on the grass between him and Jonathan. He wanted to push the raven away, and tell him to leave him be - it would be easier than having to deal with the way Jonathan's words were making him feel. Part of him wanted to punch him. Part of him wanted to cling to him. And he didn't know which he wanted more, because in that moment, he felt utterly lost. He felt Jonathan finish with his second hand, and he turned them over and back, looking at the bandages for several moments. He pushed up the sleeves of his coat, and he looked at all the bruising there, the wounds that continued to slowly seep their pinkish fluid into the gauze. "Christ, I'm a mess…" he murmured. He let his tongue lightly skim along his lower lip, and then he glanced up at Jonathan. "I thought I knew everything once, Reid. My place. My purpose. But it's all gone to shit. Hell, even my dreams…" He frowned. "I had a dream before I woke up in the hospital for the second time. I dreamed that I shot and killed my mentor. The man who was practically a father to me."

Jonathan arched a brow. "Dreams can be powerful tools to help us understand our own waking thoughts," he said. "Why did you shoot him?"

An uncomfortable expression passed across Geoffrey's face, and he looked away. "It's not important," he said with a dismissive shake of his head. "The point is, we…disagreed about something. I feel like I've betrayed him, and all he's done for me, that I would choose-" He caught himself, and clenched his jaw. "That I _wouldn't_ choose him."

"Dreams aren't meant to be interpreted literally. I'm sure if he were standing here right now, you wouldn't do that, here, in the real world."

Geoffrey's brow twitched as he thought about that, and he quickly cast a glance in Jonathan's direction before looking down at his hands. At this point, he was fairly convinced that _anyone_ coming between him and the raven, he'd shoot them. Ignoring Jonathan's comment, he instead asked, "All right. Then what do you think it means?"

Jonathan was surprised by the question. "Well, um…without knowing the complete context, it's difficult to say. But from what I've read of dreams involving parental figures, I'd say it means you want to make your own choices, Geoffrey. Carl Eldritch served as a guardian and mentor to you, and was an important part of your life. When you were that scared and alone little boy, he was probably your whole life. You learned from him, learned to stand on your own two feet, and grew into the solid leader you are today. And for that fact alone, I'm grateful that he was there." Jonathan smiled a little. "But he was Carl Eldritch. You are Geoffrey McCullum. Succeeding him, it does not mean you have to mimic everything he did, or blindly subscribe to all of his beliefs and ideals, and I think deep down, you know that, too. Maybe shooting him represents your desire to step out of his shadow and be your own person? I'm not saying to dismiss everything he taught you, but instead of seeing his work as absolute, use it as a foundation and offer your own interpretation. I don't agree with all of his beliefs, but he had good intentions. I think you can make changes to those ideas make things better. Do what _you_ think is right. Not what someone has told you to believe is right." He chuckled a little. "If we'd never learned to question what we are taught, we'd still believe the earth is flat." His expression sobered suddenly, and then he was gone, a soft wisp of black smoke where he'd been.

Geoffrey's brows went up, but before he could register more than surprise, a skal stood where Jonathan had just been, and it howled in anger at having been denied its prize. Geoffrey shifted back onto the balls of his feet, and skittered back a few feet on hands and knees, eyes wide as he wondered what he could find for a weapon. He blinked when the skal looked at him for a couple of seconds, then scanned the area for Jonathan, and took off after him instead. Geoffrey gaped as he slowly got to his feet, starting in surprise as a second skal bounded past him as if he hadn't been there. It, too, was fast, but this one he could follow with his eyes. About twenty feet away, he saw Jonathan and the skals, the two beasts circling him and preparing to attack.

Jonathan had heard the first skal, and he'd moved away to both avoid its attack and put some distance between a potential fight and Geoffrey. But he knew they rarely hunted alone, so he hadn't really been surprised to see the second one. They were fairly recently turned, he could tell, and hungry. But then again, so was he. He watched the skals carefully, and when the first one moved to attack him, he evaded its grasp, seeming to disappear in a wisp of black smoke before reappearing behind it as he grabbed its head and shoulder with his claws and sank his fangs into its throat, greedily drinking it dry to partially sate his thirst. He shoved the lifeless body towards the second skal, watching as it shifted its attention to briefly grasp onto the corpse. Capitalizing on its distraction, he narrowed his eyes as he held up a hand and made a quick fist, the gesture essentially freezing the beast where it stood. Baring his fangs, he growled as the skal squealed and blood burst from its body. He then called to the shadows around him, watching as the skal was seized by the darkness he had summoned, and then impaled through the heart by that inky blackness. Jonathan stood there for a few seconds, waiting to make sure the creature was truly dead, and then he headed back to Geoffrey, wiping the remnants of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand before licking slowly along his upper lip to savour the last. "Are you all right?"

The entire exchange had taken less than thirty seconds. Geoffrey had fought countless dozens of vampires over the course of his lifetime, and he'd seen them bite before, but he'd never seen anything like _that_. It had been amazing to watch, and he'd admit to being just a little bit afraid of what he'd just witnessed. If Jonathan had used those abilities on him, even with Arthur's blood, he didn't know if he'd have survived the encounter. He nodded stiffly in response to Jonathan's question, then frowned. "Bloody skals. They're so damned stupid. Earlier, they just stood there, let me kill them, and then these two…" He rolled his eyes. "Useless beasts."

"You know why that is, don't you?" Jonathan asked.

"Because something's dodgy with them, and they didn't come out quite right."

Jonathan's lips briefly quirked upward then fell. "Well, yes. In part. The virus does make them unstable, but they didn't attack you because they don't see you as a threat. They can sense the virus in you, and they think you're one of them."

Geoffrey gaped in disbelief, and then scowled, his lips thinned as he frowned. "Well that's just fucking brilliant!" he snapped facetiously, having realized some time ago that there was no point in trying to deny what was happening to him any longer. "Just me and my mates. Christ, what a God damned nightmare." He huffed in frustration, only to fall to another coughing fit, and when Jonathan put a hand at his back and another on his arm as if to steady him, he didn't pull away.

"Come with me," Jonathan said once the coughing had subsided, and he led Geoffrey over to a nearby stone bench so that he could sit. He could see that he was shivering harder now, and Jonathan took off his overcoat and draped it over Geoffrey's shoulders. It wouldn't fit the brunet like that, but it would offer another layer of warmth.

"What about you?" Geoffrey asked.

Jonathan smirked. "It's mostly out of habit, and for appearances," he replied as he sat next to the other in just his shirtsleeves and vest - he'd forgotten his jacket in his haste to leave. "Check the left pocket." He waited, and when Geoffrey reached into the overcoat and pulled out a small silver flask, he said, "Not something I'd normally condone for someone in your condition, but under the circumstances, I don't think it'll hurt."

Geoffrey looked curiously at the flask. "What is it?"

"Whiskey."

Geoffrey snorted in amusement as he unscrewed the cap. "And you carry around a flask why, exactly?"

"I always carry basic medical supplies with me, just in case. Believe it or not, a flask of whiskey raises less questions and suspicion than a bottle of medical grade alcohol."

"Mistrustful bastards," Geoffrey said with a smirk as he took a swallow from the flask, closing his eyes as he felt the warm burn run down his throat, the alcohol offering his body a bit of extra heat. "Mmm, lovely." He moved to give the flask back to Jonathan, instead giving him a nod of thanks when the raven held up a hand to stay him. "That was something. When you…blew that beast up. But I think you got some skal on you. I can smell it, and it kind of turns my stomach."

Jonathan shook his head. "It's not me," he said quietly. "It's you, smelling the blood that's all around us. Over there, from where you fought the skals, and then where I killed those two. Your senses are starting to sharpen as the infection becomes more aggressive in your system, and it's…somewhat appealing. But because you're still alive, your natural response is to find that sweetness nauseatingly cloying."

Geoffrey stared hard at him for several long seconds in silence, and then he swore under his breath. "Anything else I can look forward to?" he asked snarkily as he turned away to stare moodily in front of him. After a while, he snorted. "You…weren't entirely wrong," he said quietly. "What you said before. I don't want to die. Not really. But fuck me, I don't want to become… _that_ either," he said in disgust as he gestured towards where he'd fought the skals, and he took a long drink from the flask.

"You don't have to."

"No? What choice do I have? Death. Or become a skal, go off the fucking rails, and then death. Or…" He trailed off, and gestured obviously towards Jonathan. "No offense. But how is that better?"

Geoffrey was undoubtedly arrogant, rude and standoffish, but Jonathan had figured out a while ago that there were other interesting things to discover lurking below that gruff, obnoxious surface. To him, it was worth the effort to weather a barrage of scathing insults and hurtful commentary for what he got in exchange. For the most part, he managed not to be too offended when Geoffrey would be blatantly insufferable, and in this case, he simply let a wry smirk tug at his lips. "I've been in your position, where hope seems fleeting and it feels like there is no real choice. Granted, our circumstances are not identical, but close enough." Jonathan exhaled slowly. "At first, I resented this life. I didn't choose it, it was forced on me. But now that I have it, I want to keep it. I don't want to die."

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes as he studied Jonathan. "Convince me."

Jonathan gestured towards a small hill a little deeper in the cemetery. "My sister is buried over there. The night I was reborn, I had no idea what was going on, or what had happened to me. I was lost to the madness of a newborn's bloodlust, and I-I killed my own sister before I'd realized what I was doing. I tried to help her, but within moments, I found myself being stalked by hunters and chased through the city. By the end of the night, I'd been shot at and burned, and I was exhausted. The sun was rising and I found myself in a vile hovel down near the docks. There were several corpses scattered about in the flat, and one of them had a revolver." Jonathan pressed his lips together. "I've not spoken of this to anyone before now, but I did try to end my life that night. Nothing made any sense, no one would help me, and I just wanted to make the nightmare stop. I'd accidentally taken away the one bright spot that had still existed in my life, and I wanted to be punished, to make sure I wouldn't do it again. So I shot myself, right here." He pressed his middle and index fingertips to the centre of his chest. "I didn't know it at the time, but I missed my heart; probably shot myself in the lung. If I'd been mortal, I'd have definitely bled out and died."

Geoffrey's brows went up when he heard that Jonathan had, in his confusion and his grief, tried to end himself his first night as an immortal. He remembered the patrols reporting back to him about the vampire that had crawled out of a stinking corpse pit to savagely murder a young woman on the docks before evading their grasp. They'd claimed the beast to be ruthless, violent and bloodthirsty as it had taunted them. Even though he knew Jonathan was more than capable of it, now that he'd heard the raven's side, he had a hard time picturing the night's events actually unfolding the way it had been reported. "I'm glad you missed," he murmured absently around the rim of the flask as he took another swallow.

Jonathan smiled softly at the raw honesty of those four words, and with a sidelong glance to the other, he wondered if Geoffrey realized he'd spoken aloud. "I was fortunate. I got another chance when the next night I woke. I was still in a lot of pain, I still had more questions than answers, but my eyes had been opened. I realized that my death would change nothing. Yes, I may be damned to be a vampire, and God knows I'll always struggle with what I am as I go through this life, but at least I can still help people. I'm…glad that I failed."

Geoffrey liked Jonathan's matter-of-fact way of speaking. There was still an undercurrent of emotion to Jonathan's story, too, but it was subtle. He found that cold, clinical detachment could at times be a bit off-putting, but it was honest and he didn't have to hunt around through the words to glean the truth. As he listened to the story unfold, he could respect Jonathan's moral fibre, even if it wasn't something he'd really observed in any vampire he'd ever dealt with before. "By God, you're the strangest leech I've ever met," he said.

"So now I'm strange, am I? And to think, the first time we met, you thought me 'intriguing'," Jonathan teased on a drawl, flashing a brief grin when Geoffrey paled and looked away self-consciously. Jonathan sobered then and shifted his position, turning his body so that he could better face Geoffrey. "I suppose my point to all of that is this: death is final. If that's the path you want to follow, I won't stop you from taking it, but I think it would be an incredible waste. And I'd even miss you, McCullum."

Geoffrey snorted in awkward amusement when he heard that, and waved the other off in his discomfort, even if the raven's words - teasing or not - did cause him to grin for a moment. The smile fell and his expression became distantly contemplative. He still had so much he wanted to accomplish. Finally, he sighed. "How could I be like you when I would be the very thing we've sworn to eliminate?"

"It's a bit of an oxymoron, to be sure. But if you were like me, you could become the greatest vampire hunter ever. After all, who better to hunt a vampire than a vampire? You'd have the same strengths as us, plus those hunter's instincts, which you already possess. If you take away the human limitations, what would stop you?"

Geoffrey was quiet, contemplating what Jonathan had told him. "You must have a death wish, Reid, trying to convince me to follow this path. If you turned me, I would become your greatest nightmare."

"You're right," Jonathan agreed. "It would certainly be a cause for concern throughout vampire society. I'm sure you've heard some of the lore, legends of great hunters who could move undetected among mortals and immortals alike. We couldn't run. We couldn't hide."

A dark brow arched. Now _that_ was an interesting thought! "How do you know I won't just hunt you down?"

Jonathan's lips curved up slightly, and suddenly, he grasped Geoffrey's chin in his hand, his thumb lightly brushing against the rough stubble. He peered sharply at him through his brows, looking every bit the dangerous predator. He felt the warmth of Geoffrey's cheek, could feel his pulse, and smell the scent of his skin, the subtle hint of whiskey, and the desire he felt caused his pupils to dilate slightly. "I don't," he purred as he held the darker blue for several moments, the gaze intense and piercing. The smile went wider, and turned slightly impish as he slowly came closer. Not breaking eye contact, he put himself very much in Geoffrey's personal space. "But that's part of trusting someone, isn't it?" he said on a dulcet whisper, a hint of breath just ghosting across Geoffrey's cheek. He held the stare for a few beats longer, and then blinked slowly as he eased back. He dropped his hand away as he crossed an ankle over at the knee and turned to look out at the night, slowly scanning the area before he glanced sidelong at the brunet.

Geoffrey's breath stuttered when Jonathan's hand cupped his chin, and he held it completely when he felt the brush of thumb against his cheek, caught in that wolfish stare. He swallowed hard, his tongue briefly swiping across his lower lip to moisten it, and his pulse quickened as the raven was suddenly _there_ and he was lost in those eerie eyes. A shiver ran through him as Jonathan murmured lowly against his skin, teasing him, and as the words finally registered, his eyes widened slightly. When Jonathan moved away, he shivered again - this time for a completely different reason. His eyelids fell halfway, the dark lashes partly shading his eyes as he wondered, not for the first time, about this hold Jonathan seemed to have over him. He shifted his gaze to watch the other, the nonchalant posture both amusing and irritating him. "Bastard. You're playing a dangerous game, Reid," he said, his voice sounding somewhat gruff. After a pause, a crooked smirk turned his lips upward, a hint of his usual arrogance returning. "If you do this, I swear by the Lord Almighty, I'll _never_ stop hunting you." And he meant it. Though he never said he planned to kill him.

Jonathan chuckled. "I hope you don't. I don't know what I'd do with my time if I wasn't constantly looking over my shoulder for the Guard of Priwen."

Geoffrey shook his head. "No. Not them. Just me." He fixed Jonathan with a glare, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "You're mine, and mine alone." Abruptly he blinked, his lips pressing into a tight, thin line as he realized what he'd said. "Damn it…" He took a deep breath as he turned slightly away from the raven, and then he let it out slowly, cursing himself for his outburst.

Jonathan frowned, concerned by the reaction. "Geoffrey? What's the matter?"

Geoffrey shifted his gaze back in Jonathan's general direction, but he didn't look directly at him. "You're a hell of a persuader." His hands tightened around the flask. "You got into my head. I should be dismissing this stupid idea with every fibre of my being, but the more I think about it, the more I'm starting to see it as the best solution to a shitty problem. I don't love it, but it has the least number of negatives. Gives me most of what I want." He met Jonathan's eyes for a moment, holding the pale blue. If he took Jonathan's offer, it was the only option where he could also have _him_. He didn't know exactly what that all would entail, whether it was to taunt him as an adversary, to talk to him as a friend, or something else entirely (likely a combination!), but he knew that he needed the raven around him. Jonathan grounded him. Helped him feel…complete. And the only way he could do that was by _not dying_. He snorted contemptuously at his own idiocy. He was giving up his humanity, and everything he'd been taught to believe in, for one person - and a bloody vampire at that! And then, a few moments later, he realized he didn't even care.

Jonathan nodded, though he kept his commentary to himself as he quietly watched and waited for the brunet work through whatever mental hurdles remained. He knew it hadn't been an easy choice to make, but he was sure that Geoffrey wouldn't appreciate hearing his assurances that he truly did believe this was the best course of action. He felt a flood of relief wash through him with the knowledge that Geoffrey wasn't going to die, or worse, turn into a mindless skal, but he was also no fool. Geoffrey would accept his offer grudgingly, seeing it as the lesser of all evils, but Jonathan knew it was going to be a difficult adjustment. After all, it wasn't exactly an easy choice to become the thing you hate most of all in the world. He felt Geoffrey's eyes on him, and he turned slightly to hold the prideful blue that stared hard at him. He waited patiently for the brunet to speak, figuring this was Geoffrey's time. And he'd give him as much as he required.

That said, Jonathan was having an increasingly difficult time remaining professional the longer they sat together. Even broken and vulnerable, Geoffrey was still strong and determined. Those were the characteristics that had attracted Jonathan in the first place, and the more he'd gotten to know him, the more he'd wanted him. He'd resisted. He'd not drank from Geoffrey directly, though he'd had enough of his blood through other means to where he felt almost physical pain in his craving for it. He was addicted, and whenever he let himself lose focus, his mind would wander, conjuring up the number of ways he would devour the man if permitted. His eyes narrowed slightly, his hunger for the other growing the longer those defiant eyes watched him. The tip of his tongue toyed with the point of a fang. Geoffrey had told him he would continue to hunt him, but Jonathan had his own ideas. In his game, he would see the predator become the prey. _His_ prey. And once he'd captured Geoffrey, he would claim his reward. A soft growl sounded low in his throat as he imagined just how that would go down, his thoughts lost to intense blue and a vermillion haze. He was pulled back to the present by the sound of Geoffrey coughing violently.

"Fuck, this is getting worse," Geoffrey rasped when he'd managed to stop. "Are you sure this will even work?" He gave Jonathan a hard stare. "Swear to me right now, Reid, that if it goes to shit, you'll end me."

"That won't happen. But you have my word."

"And you know what you're doing? I read in some of the Guard's documents that sometimes humans don't survive the transformation. I mean, we would typically celebrate news like that, but…" He trailed off awkwardly with a half-shrug.

"They will if they're turned by a strong vampire." He wondered if his Maker had perhaps done him a kindness in that regard - he'd not had to anticipate, or think about the mechanics of it.

"Are you?" Geoffrey asked, eyes narrowed slightly.

He could feel Geoffrey's unease as he asked him questions he already knew the answers to. But Jonathan answered them anyway. He smiled gently, and nodded silently. "Yes," he said softly. "Quite."

Geoffrey nodded stiffly in turn, jaw clenched. He thought about the fight with the skals he'd just watched and his heartrate spiked and his breathing quickened, though he managed to keep from coughing. "All right then. Do it." He stared straight ahead, hands gripping to the edge of the bench to hide his anxiety. When Jonathan didn't move, he glanced sidelong at him. "Well? Go on."

Jonathan started in surprise, brows rooting for his hairline. "What? Here?"

Geoffrey shrugged. "I know it doesn't take all that long, Reid. I've read books too, remember? I know how it's done. We have a lot of documentation we've collected over the years." Some of it had been interesting reading. Though he'd found the papers on vampire coupling and gestation repellent; it was the one subject he'd found that both Priwen and Ascalon agreed on.

Jonathan glanced eastward. With his vampiric senses, he could tell it was getting near to sunrise, even though there was no sign of approaching daylight in the darkness. "No, the actual act doesn't take long, but afterwards, I'm not sure. The sun will be up soon. Once it rises, I can't stay out here, and I'm not prepared to just leave you."

"Well I'm not going back to fucking Pembroke," Geoffrey said somewhat petulantly.

Jonathan's eyes widened. "No! God, no, that hadn't even crossed my mind to bring you there."

Geoffrey's jaw clenched tighter. "There's an abandoned Priwen outpost by the Blackwall sewers. We used to use it all the time, but when they moved the boundaries for the quarantine areas, it got to be a pain in the arse to keep it. It's been closed up for a while, but we kept a lot of the defenses, just in case. No one should've been able to break in." He couldn't believe he'd actually suggested one of the Guard's sanctuaries as the place where he would die and be reborn.

Jonathan nodded. "That will do." He stood, and when Geoffrey moved to hand him back his coat, he shook his head. "You keep it for now."

The walk to Blackwall was quiet, and even though he didn't show it outwardly, the closer they got, the more Geoffrey's fear started to take over. He was in terrifyingly unfamiliar territory. He didn't know what was going to happen to him from hereon in. He wasn't thrilled with the choice he'd made - even if he would grudgingly admit it was the best one under the circumstances. And, the one-two flu/pneumonia knock-out combination had him feeling just generally shitty and exhausted, while the additional bonus of the skal virus running amok through his system wasn't doing much to improve his mood. When they reached the door of the outpost, Geoffrey took out his keys and unlocked the door, inviting Jonathan in and then bolting it shut behind them once they were inside. The place was pitch black and smelled closed in. "We killed the power when we closed up. It might still work; the switches are in the basement - though someone'll notice if the place is all lit up after so long."

Maybe it's for the best to leave it off, then. Unexpected company would be...inconvenient."

"Yeah." Geoffrey agreed. "There's a staircase a few feet ahead, fireplaces on both floors." His voice felt wooden and tight. "Not that it helps any right now."

Jonathan smiled. "I can see in the dark," he said. "I will start a fire. It'll help - both the light and the warmth."

"Just don't go lighting yourself up in the process," Geoffrey couldn't help but snark. "I'd be right fucked if you went and killed yourself now, wouldn't I?"

Jonathan did laugh at that. "Perish the thought. I'll be careful." The nervousness was coming off of Geoffrey in waves now, and he'd only gone a couple of steps before he came back to the brunet's side. "If you're having second thoughts, I won't make you go through with it. There's still…some time if you want to wait."

Geoffrey was quiet for a few moments. He couldn't see Jonathan in front of him, but he could feel his presence. "Right. Good to know," he said stiffly. "Leech with a conscience. Brilliant. Just get on with it."

Jonathan smirked at the show of bravado, though sobered as he watched Geoffrey in the darkness. He could see his expression clearly, and could see that he was scared. "I won't hurt you, Geoffrey. I promise." Gently, he put his hands on Geoffrey's cheeks and held his face, his own inches away. "I hope you believe me." He half expected the other to tense and pull away from him.

Geoffrey couldn't see Jonathan's face, but he felt his cheeks heat against the gentle touch, and feeling somewhat mortified, he nodded stiffly as he swallowed harshly. "I believe you. …Jonathan."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NEW:** So, the super amazing, wonderfully talented Soha drew a gorgeous sketch of a scene from this chapter! I strongly urge you all to check it out, because _damn_! ♥♥ Thank you for sharing it with me, lovely! **kiss**
> 
> If you have Instagram, you can find it [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/BloDW0HHFwh/?taken-by=sleight.of.hand.art).
> 
> If you don't have Instagram, don't you worry! I can find workarounds for most things. You can have a peek [here](https://web.stagram.com/p/BloDW0HHFwh).
> 
> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Nothing beyond fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> So...it's only taken what, seven chapters to get to the crux of the story? ¬_¬
> 
> Geoffrey continues to vex me. I love the man to death, but he gives me fits, and I swear if I have an aneurysm while writing this, it's going to be because of him. Nothing can ever be easy with him. The man fights me at every stage, and does complicated like a champ. But then, he wouldn't be half as interesting if he just rolled over and took whatever I threw at him, would he?
> 
> As I've been exploring his character, I find him to be richly layered. That outer shell is just a hard, prickly layer that protects the soft, squishy insides. (I mean that more figuratively than literally, but literally works, too... **smirk**) In this chapter, bear in mind when you want to scream at him and throw things (as I threatened to do to him on multiple occasions), he's dealing with _a lot_ right now. Not everything is _bad_ , necessarily, but it's all...game changing. And that has to be overwhelming. And it has him all over the map, emotionally speaking. So maybe the _teensiest_ bit of slack can be cut for him.
> 
> Or you'll just want to slap him stupid. Your choice.
> 
> And then there's Jonathan... I feel guilty for the torment I put him through, but he will endure it. He's a rock when he needs to be. He really is good for Geoffrey. And by the end, I think we'll see that Geoffrey is good for him. 
> 
> That said, to make a very long story short, we always hate the things we love, don't we? ~_^
> 
> Enjoy this, my darlings. I'm sure some of you will love me, and some of you will hate me - but I adore you all. ♥ Thank you to all of you for still hanging on for this wild ride. xoxo

Once Geoffrey had been able to at least see his surroundings, he'd started to feel a bit calmer. It had been about twenty minutes since they'd entered the outpost - a repurposed townhouse - and at present he was sitting on a folding cot in front of a warm fireplace. He could hear Jonathan walking around softly on the second floor, his footfalls barely making any noise. Once the fire had been lit, the raven had insisted on taking a walk through the building, and Geoffrey really couldn't fault him for being cautious. He'd have done the same thing. Before he'd wandered off, Jonathan had found an old wool blanket in a trunk and had brought it over for Geoffrey, who had immediately dismissed the idea, snapping that he refused to sit there, bundled up like someone's old gran. Besides, he'd argued, before much longer, it wouldn't matter anyway, and reluctantly, Jonathan had ceded. The memory pulled a smug smirk. He'd take whatever small victories he could get - and he really did get a sense of twisted pleasure at being able to get under Jonathan's skin.

And yet, despite his vehement unwillingness to take the extra layer, he still had Jonathan's coat draped over his shoulders to keep from shivering too badly; the fire had added a bit of welcome light to the pre-dawn darkness, but the air was still chilly and damp, and it made his exposed skin feel weirdly clammy. _Corpselike_ , he thought absently, and then made a face with the realization, turning his gaze towards the fire. As he stared into the burning embers, he wondered if Jonathan's skin felt like that being in this place - not that he was going to ask. He truly had no idea of the effects of weather on vampires because he'd never really made it a habit to touch any of them - for comparative purposes, or otherwise. He pulled Jonathan's overcoat a little tighter around him, and he inhaled deeply when he caught a subtle hint of a familiar fragrance from the fabric. Citrusy and woodsy, Geoffrey turned his head slightly to the side to take a deeper sniff, and he arched a brow when he finally placed it as _Blenheim Bouquet_. He snorted in amusement at the thought of a vampire even bothering with something as human as putting on cologne, though his expression faded to a simple upturn of lips as he closed his eyes and just breathed deeply of the comforting fragrance.

"Everything looks secure," Jonathan said as he came down the staircase and stood in the doorway of the small salon.

"I told you no one should've been able to break - Jesus!" Geoffrey saw two green disembodied orbs glowing in the doorway, and he started in surprise and scooted back a few inches before he realized it was Jonathan.

"Are you all right?" Jonathan asked as he stepped into the room, the light from the fire casting golden light and flickering shadows across his frame.

Geoffrey nodded, and irritably ran a hand through his hair. "Just forgot about leech eyes, how they glow like a cat's in the dark. Makes them easy to find in the shadows."

"Really? I didn't realize."

"Well, skals and sewer beasts, at least. Your kind? Not always; depends on how you're looking at something. I'd just…" He shrugged as he trailed off. It wasn't so much that he'd forgotten about it. More that he'd let his guard down enough to where he hadn't been thinking about Jonathan being a vampire. "It's the first time I've seen it on you," he said lamely.

"Hm." Jonathan pondered that briefly as he came closer, and sat on a wooden folding chair beside Geoffrey. "Well, it was very dark upstairs," he said apologetically as he set the Brodie helmet he carried on the floor in front of him. "I'm sorry if I startled you."

"I wasn't scared." Geoffrey glanced at the raven, glad to see the blue he was used to. In low light, Jonathan's eyes typically seemed a bit more luminous than a human's, the colour a bit exotic, but not too far outside the realm of normal to where most wouldn't even question it.

Jonathan arched a brow. He'd detected the spike in heart rate, but he merely smirked and nodded. "My mistake then."

Geoffrey snorted and gave a single, stiff nod, his jaw clenched. Now that Jonathan was back, he felt better for the company, but the nervousness was starting to creep in again, knowing what lay ahead. "What the hell's that for?" he asked after a moment, gesturing with his chin towards the helmet.

Jonathan offered a small smile. "I may need it later."

"For what? Expecting a raid?" Geoffrey asked sarcastically. He could see that dawn had come, the first vestiges of grey light beginning to seep in through the cracks in the shutters. Silently, he let his eyes travel over Jonathan's face, studying him. He'd not been with him the whole time to see what he'd been doing, but he suspected he'd not fed or slept well for some time - he looked tired and paler than usual. _Easier to kill that way,_ his hunter's mind reminded, and he frowned. "You should sleep. I'll be fine for an hour. I'll even give you my word that I won't bugger off for parts unknown as soon as your eyes are closed." He tried to convince himself that he'd asked out of concern, but he knew he was stalling, and he was disgusted with himself for it.

Jonathan's expression was amused, though he gave him a subtle shake of his head. "No. The last time I left you alone, I came back to find you fevered and sick. At this point, I'm not tempting Fate and risking something more sinister happening while I take a nap. I'll rest later, when it's more…appropriate." Ideally, the time between Geoffrey's death and rebirth. He was quiet for a moment, and then asked, "Can I get you anything?"

Geoffrey blinked at the question, then let out a bark of laughter, still chuckling even as he started coughing hard, violently hacking until he gagged, and he leaned forward to spit into the fire.

"Something amuses you?" Jonathan asked dryly as he arched a brow.

"You," Geoffrey managed. He saw the affronted look, and even as he put a hand on his chest and continued to bark roughly, he did smile. "It's not a bloody social call," he rasped finally when he'd managed to stop. His throat felt torn and raw, and he licked the blood from his bottom lip. "Even here, when absolutely everything has gone to complete shit, you can maintain propriety." When Jonathan continued to silently stare at him, his expression bemused, he shook his head. "It's not an insult, Reid. Just didn't expect Death to be so…gentlemanly." He sobered then, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Nah, don't need anything. Just curious about one thing, though. Is it going to hurt?"

Jonathan licked the hinted smile from his lips as he glanced away, his gaze going to the fire for a moment. "My part of it won't." He glanced at the brunet. "From what I understand, initially, it's quite…pleasant." There was a quick flash of teeth when he saw Geoffrey's eyes widen slightly, and heard him clear his throat. "After that…" He trailed off with a small sigh. "Physiologically speaking, the heart slows, and then stops. I would imagine that's somewhat painful, like I've seen with those in cardiac arrest. And then from what I've read, the metamorphosis itself is, too." He looked at Geoffrey. "As for my own experiences, I honestly don't remember much about it. I remember walking on the docks, alive. I have a vague memory of being bitten. And then I remember waking up. I can't even tell you how much time passed between my death and my rebirth."

Geoffrey arched a brow. "You don't know who the leech is who made you?"

"No, not exactly. But from what I have managed to learn, my Maker is very old." Jonathan chuckled. "I've heard his voice, and I've seen…well, I'm not sure what it was, really. He…has the shape of a man, but doesn't look like one. He's more…ghostly." He saw the odd look Geoffrey was giving him. "I don't understand it, either," he admitted. "But before this ends, I will find him, and I will make him answer my questions."

"Not if I find him first," Geoffrey said somewhat cockily, and then he sobered for a moment before he grimaced, managing to draw in a wheezed, crackling breath before he started coughing again. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and then turned pained, tired eyes to Jonathan. "Christ, it's getting bad. I can't even take in a whole breath without coughing." He swallowed hard. "Time to quit arsing around. Let's do this, Reid."

"Geoffrey, are you completely sure?" Jonathan asked. "Once I start, I can't undo it if you change your mind."

Geoffrey closed his eyes as he tried to take some slow, full breaths, and he nodded. His heart felt like it was going to explode for as hard and fast as it was currently beating, and a cold sweat had broken out across his brow from nerves. His tongue swiped across his lower lip and he blinked his eyes open, forcing himself to look at Jonathan. He was scared. No - he was _fucking terrified_ of what was about to happen. He was still not thrilled with himself for _willingly_ agreeing to this plan. But he was certain. "In for a penny, in for a pound. Yeah. I'm sure." He snorted softly, a humourless smirk playing across his lips. "If I change my mind after, there's always Plan B. The edge of my sword is plenty sharp."

Jonathan's eyes widened for a moment. He didn't want to think about that possibility, even if he knew Geoffrey had only said it to get a rise out of him. "All right then." He stood and moved to Geoffrey's side. He leaned forward to reach for his coat, only to arch a brow when the brunet reflexively leaned away from him. "Geoffrey, please try to relax." He reached into the right pocket and pulled out a small leather case - the one he carried his supplies in. Leaving the garment where it sat around Geoffrey's shoulders, he scooted the chair closer to the cot and sat. He unzipped the case and set it, opened, on the cot next to the brunet. Finally, he took Geoffrey's left wrist and pushed up the sleeve of his trench coat. He made a face when he saw how much fluid had seeped through the gauze since he'd last seen it, and picking up the tiny scissors from his kit, he carefully cut the bandage away and as gently as he could, he peeled it off.

Geoffrey had been somewhat mortified when he'd shied away from Jonathan - especially once he'd realized he'd just been searching for his medical kit. It wasn't that he was necessarily _afraid_ of the raven, but he was definitely not at his best, and he was unarmed, which put him even more on edge. He felt it was a reasonable reaction under the circumstances, even if it did make him feel like a bit of a coward. His embarrassment was short-lived, however, as he watched what Jonathan was doing. Granted, the books he'd read didn't go into explicit detail on how a vampire was made or the metamorphosis in general, but he was admittedly confused, and wondered why he needed his bandage off, though questions were replaced by shock when the gauze was removed and he saw the infected and oozing wound that lay under it. "Jesus Christ!"

"Indeed," Jonathan said grimly. "I knew it was getting worse, but I needed to see it." Pressing his lips into a thin line, he said, "It shouldn't matter because my blood is stronger, but after seeing this, I'm not taking any chances. I want as much of this poisoned blood out of you as I can manage." He picked up the helmet and set it between his knees, like a bucket. Then he chose a scalpel from his kit. "I am sorry. This is going to hurt, but it will pass quickly." He held Geoffrey's wrist over the helmet, and met the darker blue. "Just look at me. It will help with the pain." Jonathan clenched his jaw, preparing himself mentally for the sight and smell of Geoffrey's blood. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the scalpel tighter and cut a deep 'X' across Geoffrey's wrist. The blood started to flow, and he turned the limb over and bent back the wrist slightly, opening the wound further. He watched long enough to make sure the blood was going where it was supposed to, and then turned quickly away from the gorgeous red and held Geoffrey's eyes. "I'm so sorry," he said again, his voice sounding slightly rough, his upper lip twitching just slightly for wont of a hungry sneer.

The scalpel blade was keenly sharp, and cut cleanly to where Geoffrey had barely even felt it, though when Jonathan turned his hand over and the blood began pouring from the wound, he let out a pained growl that morphed into a low groan as he was hit by a sudden wave of light-headedness. "It's…hard to think."

"Yes. You've lost a lot of blood very quickly. That is expected."

The dizziness became more pronounced, and he began to feel like he was intoxicated, but Geoffrey made himself focus on Jonathan's eyes. The raven had been right. It helped to keep his thoughts from wandering, or from him wanting to close his eyes to rest, just for a second. "Why like this?" he asked after a moment, his limbs starting to feel heavy, his body shivering from cold. "Why don't you just do…what you _do_?" Geoffrey continued, his words coming out a little slower than normal. "Not that I really want you to," he added quickly, even as he found himself looking curiously at Jonathan's mouth, briefly contemplating his teeth. Maybe he'd be more okay with it than he'd first thought. "It'd be faster, no?" he pointed out, then frowned. "Unless you don't want to?"

Jonathan smiled as he was finally able to parse out what the brunet had been asking, and with his free hand, he put it on the brunet's cheek, again letting his fingers touch the dark stubble. How much like the man it was - prickly at first, but there was a hinted softness, too. And he quite liked that. "Oh, it's not that I don't want to," he murmured on a purred drawl, the smell of blood in the air and the genuine openness Geoffrey was showing only feeding his desire for the man. "God, I want to, more than anything right now, but I can't."

"It's the sickness?"

Jonathan shook his head, somewhat amused by the other's seeming disappointment. "No, not at all. It's because if I did, I don't know that I'd be able to stop myself before your heart stopped beating," he said, not daring to break eye contact. He took a slow breath and let it out on a heavy exhale. "It is a _very_ tempting thing, especially with you permitting it," he added, a slight growl to his words. His entire being _ached_ with want, not all of it for blood. He could feel that undercurrent of arousal singing through his veins, and it was taking everything he had in him not to possess Geoffrey in every way possible right then. His fingers shifted back to thread into the short hair at his nape, then twitched as if to tighten their grasp so Jonathan could feed. He knew Geoffrey wouldn't resist him. He inhaled sharply, and abruptly dropped his hand away, fangs bared slightly. "It's more of a risk than I'm prepared to take," he said harshly, trying to pull himself back from that edge.

Geoffrey gave his head a small shake, trying to clear the gauzy fog and stay sharp. He saw the teeth, but they didn't frighten him. He listened to what Jonathan was saying, and slowly nodded his understanding. "If my heart stops, and any of the bad blood remains…" he trailed off with a frown, trying to find the words to finish the thought, knowing that Jonathan had explained this to him once before.

"Yes, Geoffrey," Jonathan said on a low whisper as he relaxed his hold on the brunet's wrist, slowing the flow of blood to where it was now just slowly trickling out. He licked his lower lip. "How do you want me to proceed?"

The brunet arched a brow. "You're asking me? Hell, you're the bloody vampire; I've never done this before."

Jonathan couldn't help but smile as he turned slightly and set the helmet on the floor, in front of the fireplace. "I more meant are you okay with taking blood from me directly, or would you prefer an injection?"

Geoffrey's brows both went up, and then he frowned. "Fuck off; no more needles." He took a breath and let it out slowly. "You said your part in this whole thing was pleasant, yeah? It sounds like the rest will be shit, so…" He shrugged, a somewhat discomfited expression on his face. He knew it was a bad idea, but the more time Geoffrey spent in Jonathan's company, the more Geoffrey was realizing that he wanted him. Badly. And he fought that desire hard, to the point where he hoped he'd come across as an indifferent, dismissive asshole. "So, I don't care; do it however. Prove to me I can trust a leech - even if I won't remember it."

Jonathan's eyes went wide when Geoffrey essentially gave him _carte blanche_ to do what he wanted, and then narrowed to a predatory glare as he lightly grasped the brunet's left hand. "You should be more careful with your words," he said darkly, and as the hunger sang through him anew, he lifted Geoffrey's wrist and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the wound. Eyes falling closed for a moment, he lingered for a second before he eased back just a little. That smallest of tastes, directly from the source, sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through Jonathan's body, and he shivered visibly from it. His eyes snapped open, pupils dilated to where just a thin corona of blue was visible around them. He let his tongue trail wantonly over the flesh there, stealing the blood that remained with a couple of languid swipes before letting keen fangs just lightly graze the delicate skin as he forced himself away with a soft, exasperated gasp. Still holding to Geoffrey's hand, he brought the trembling fingers of his other hand to his lips, gathering up the crimson that stained them before his teeth grazed over the pads and he started greedily cleaning them with lips and tongue. "Mmmmmmh, it's a dangerous thing you offer," he said finally, his words half growled, half purred. His tongue ran along his upper teeth, the lip drawing back slightly with the resultant low snarl, his desire far from sated. "How am I supposed to resist you when you tempt me with something like that?"

Geoffrey wasn't sure just what Jonathan was going to do to him when he grabbed his hand, but his breath caught, his eyes wide and unblinking when he felt the raven's mouth on his wrist. He'd seen vampires drink blood before, but he'd never seen it up close, and never done as sensually. He was barely able to breathe when Jonathan pulled away and Geoffrey got a good look at his face. It was the single most terrifying, but erotic, thing he had ever witnessed, and he was surprised to find himself somewhat disappointed when the moment had passed. His breathing was quick and shallow, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he heard (felt!) the growl, and saw the way the raven was looking at him. As Jonathan's words finally registered through the haze in his brain, he felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine, though outwardly, he stared hard at him and said gruffly, "I know what I said to you." 

Jonathan laughed, the pleasant timbre tinged with a note of hinted darkness. "Very well." He picked up the scalpel he'd used on Geoffrey, a brow arching slightly as he considered the instrument. He looked at his wrist, then let his gaze flick up to Geoffrey's eyes. He saw the defiance warring with desire, and a slow smirk curled up the corners of his mouth. "Then with your permission, I won't resist." With deliberate intent, he ran his tongue along the scalpel, the sharp bite of pain only adding to the hunger he felt. When he reached the end, he flicked the tip over the point before curling it back into his mouth. Then, with a very wolfish stare, he shifted from the chair to sit next to Geoffrey on the cot, his hands threading into his hair, fingers curling possessively against his scalp.

Geoffrey watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as Jonathan cut his own tongue, and he saw the way the pain only seemed to exacerbate that bloodlust that was just simmering at the surface of the raven's control. He tensed a little when Jonathan moved next to him, torn between accepting his fate and wanting one last time to try to resist. He tried not to think about the fact that he was about to consume vampire blood - or the method by which it was to be administered. He tried to tell himself that it was fear over dying that had his heart racing, and not the man sitting next to him. And then Jonathan's lips were on his, and he _couldn't_ think any more. _Yes…_ he thought, and then years of conditioning took over. _No!_ His first reaction, his reflex, was to fight. When the first taste of Jonathan's blood met his tongue, he gagged and tried not to swallow, his panic over what was happening overriding the logic that reminded him that he'd agreed to this.

_Let go, Geoffrey; I have you. I promise._

Geoffrey heard Jonathan's voice clearly in his mind, it rising above the chaos and discord his thoughts had become. It was a bit disconcerting to hear, but oddly comforting. _I want to, but-_

_Trust me._

Geoffrey thought about everything Jonathan had done for him, about the things they'd talked about, about the real reason he'd chosen this over death. He did trust him, and with a shuddered breath, he swallowed. There was a moment of remorse as he briefly thought about Carl Eldritch, and how he was convinced he'd failed the man by taking up this path, but all thoughts were quickly forgotten as he was acquainted with Jonathan's blood. He wanted to be disgusted over the very idea, but the taste was sweet-salty and immediately addictive, and he wanted more of it. Grasping on to Jonathan's shirtfront, he pulled him closer as he responded to the kiss, aggressively drawing Jonathan's tongue into his mouth as he went for a deeper taste. A low groan passed between them as he felt Jonathan's teeth tease at his lower lip, and then after what seemed like mere seconds, Jonathan had pulled away, and he found himself unusually dissatisfied by that. His brow furrowed in confusion, as if he wasn't exactly sure what had just happened, and he brought a hand up to touch his lips, the middle and index fingers coming away stained red. He looked at them for a few moments, and then turned his hand so the palm faced the raven, his expression questioning. "I - that's it?"

"Yes. You took my blood. Quite a lot of it, actually." Jonathan chuckled softly, then grasped the hand. He licked the two fingers clean, and then leaned forward to gently draw Geoffrey's lower lip between his own, sucking the last of the blood from it before flicking the tip of his tongue against it. He watched the dark blue as he sat back, and then slowly shifted himself back to his chair. "Your heart is already starting to slow."

"I-" His words were interrupted when he felt a terrible tightness in his chest, the pain enough to cause him to double over slightly, his eyes narrowing as he tried not to show how bad it was. "Is this…the worst of it?" Geoffrey asked through gritted teeth.

"It is for me," Jonathan said quietly, his expression serious as he watched the light slowly dim in Geoffrey's eyes, heard him take his last breath before his body relaxed completely and he went utterly still. He stood then, grasping Geoffrey's shoulders as he manoeuvred him to lay on the cot. He straightened, and stared down at him for several long moments, waiting, and when absolutely nothing happened, a small smile passed across his face. Geoffrey was dead, of that he was certain, but he'd not heard any last thoughts, which meant he was in stasis, and would undergo his metamorphosis over the next while. And he was sure Geoffrey McCullum was too stubborn not to survive that.

The first thing Jonathan did was get rid of the helmet thinking that the last thing Geoffrey would need on waking was to be tormented by the smell of blood he shouldn't drink. It wasn't so much that there was anything wrong with him drinking his own, but he had his doubts as to whether or not he'd be able to keep it down after more than a couple of hours had passed. As it was, Jonathan had tried, and had wound up making himself sick from it, the conditions in the outpost not exactly conducive to keeping things at peak freshness. He was mortified that he'd allowed his weakness for Geoffrey's blood to compel him to do something so stupid, but he'd mostly been glad that no one had been there to actually see it happen. He'd closed his eyes and fallen into a light doze after that, hoping to stave off some of that lingering nausea, and when he awoke a short time after, he looked at Geoffrey and a soft smile crested. The cut he'd made on his wrist was healing, as was the injection site. But even better, he couldn't detect the sickness in him any longer. Pleased by that, he took his medical scissors and cut the remaining bandages from Geoffrey's other arm, his hands and his throat. He still had some healing to do, but it was progress. Confident, he put his medical kit back in his coat, and slipped it on.

The day wore on, and Jonathan turned the chair around, sitting backwards on it so he could put his forearms along the back and rest his head while still keeping an eye on Geoffrey. He nodded off a couple more times, once being startled awake when he felt a spike of white-hot pain jolt through him, and the sound of agonized screaming. Geoffrey remained motionless and lifeless, not breathing nor having a pulse, but Jonathan knew without a doubt that it was coming from him. Whatever was happening within his body had to be excruciating, and he shivered, glad he didn't remember this part of his own transformation. From what he was getting, even second-hand, he could now appreciate why so many didn't survive the process! With a hand to his head, he shakily got to his feet, trying to force his eyes to focus for a few seconds as he crossed the room and went to sit on the stairs, needing to put some distance between himself and Geoffrey. Sitting down heavily, he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

He slept for longer than he had intended, for the next thing he knew, it was dusk, the fire had long ago died out, and there was the sound of a key in the lock. Jonathan froze where he sat in the shadows, waiting to see who it was and what they wanted. He was surprised when a single Priwen guard - and a cadet at that - strolled blindly into the building, weapon carelessly holstered and carrying a candle lantern as he vented aloud to himself about the errand he was currently on.

"Fucking Walker," he muttered as he half-assed shone the light around in parody of looking for a crate. "Pulls me off patrol to come down to this dodgy shithole to see if there's a box of rifle bolts squirreled away!" He snorted. "Naff off, you prick; Millar asked you outright to come look. Probably to rid himself of you for half a night." The boy snorted. "Just because Queen Victoria visited your Granddad in his shoppe, it doesn't make you related to the Crown, you arse. I've half a mind to-" He cut himself off with a terrified scream when he was suddenly thrown against the wall and pinned there by a snarling and very feral looking Geoffrey McCullum. The lantern fell to the ground, casting long, eerie shadows over everything. "Christ!" He felt the graze of teeth against his flesh and he closed his eyes, frozen in fear.

"Geoffrey, no!" Jonathan exclaimed, and he clenched his hand into a fist, freezing the brunet in place. Appearing in front of him, he pushed him hard away, the shadows rising to further send the brunet backwards across the room, and then hold him. Turning to the boy, he quickly grasped his cheeks, forcing him to look at him. "It was a vampire attack," he told the cadet insistently, the pale blue boring into the terrified brown.

"Leeches. Gentlemen…"

"No. Great black wings and teeth. Feral and hungry. That's all you know. You're lucky you escaped with your life."

The boy blinked at him, his expression glazed. "Like…bats," he murmured absently. "Great big fucking bats."

"Exactly. Like bats," Jonathan said with a smirk, and satisfied he wouldn't run back and tell his superiors the true nature of what he'd witnessed, he let the boy go. He watched the cadet in a panic grab his lantern and run, then turned to Geoffrey.

The brunet had freed himself from the shadows and gotten back to his feet, and looked at him, as if in a daze. "Hungry…" he murmured as he stalked towards Jonathan.

"Yes, and I’m sorry for stopping you, but you'd have regretted it. Like I did," he said gently as he moved closer, not sure if Geoffrey could hear him, or if he even knew it _was_ him. He remembered how he'd felt, that the only thing that had mattered was blood. "I won't let you kill one of your own."

Geoffrey grimaced slightly, the keen fangs showing. He'd been turned, all previous traces of sickness and injury gone, the damage from Jonathan's shadow already starting to heal. "It hurts," he said, and he licked his lips, as if to moisten them. "The hunger."

"I know," Jonathan said quietly, and he stared into Geoffrey's eyes. They were still strikingly intense, but the blue wasn't as quite as dark as it had been, thanks to the metamorphosis. And he could see the pain the thirst was causing. "It will get better." He stood in front of the other, arms slightly out to the side as if in invitation, and he waited.

Geoffrey blinked, and then was on him, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist as he growled and bit hard into Jonathan's throat.

Jonathan had been expecting it, but Geoffrey was a bit taller and stockier than he was and had an iron grip, and the force of the bite still had him gritting his teeth against the sting. Lightly, he put a hand on Geoffrey's back, the other one gently caressing the back of his head, and he just held him there for a moment while he fed. "You're already off to a better start than I was," he said with a bit of amusement, and after a few more seconds, he gently, but insistently, pushed Geoffrey away from him, stumbling back a couple of off-balance paces himself as the lack of sustenance and his own blood loss was finally catching up to him.

Geoffrey's eyes were closed, head tipped back slightly as he breathed in deeply, a pleasured snarl on his face as the most intense sense of euphoria flooded his entire being. Every part of him felt like it was electrically charged, and his hand slowly curled into a tight fist, as if hoping to contain that energy within him. Slowly, he let his eyes slide open, the blue becoming clearer and sharper as the blood coursed through his system. He could get used to that! Suddenly aware of his surroundings, he realized he wasn't alone and shifted his attention to Jonathan. He looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened as everything suddenly caught up. He let his gaze quickly dart around the dark room, which he now had no trouble seeing, and then his attention returned to the raven. He licked his lower lip, and when he tasted blood and felt another jolt run through him, he wiped his fingers over his mouth and looked at them. He was alive. Except that he wasn't really. He was a vampire. He found himself torn between being angry and being relieved, and that in turn left him feeling unsettled. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, and he fell to his default of being irritated and lashing out. "This was your doing," he said. "I remember now. The choice that really wasn't a choice." Deep down, Geoffrey knew the decision had been his and his alone. Jonathan hadn't forced him. But he was struggling with accepting what had happened, and how this new life was going to affect everything he'd ever known and believed. He hadn't put any clear plan in place prior, and now he felt suddenly lost as to his path forward and he needed someone to blame. And Jonathan made an excellent target. His frown deepened. "You've made me a murderer."

"I didn't," Jonathan insisted. "I stopped you from becoming one."

Geoffrey gave him a suspicious look. "What do you mean by that?"

Jonathan sighed softly, not really that surprised by Geoffrey's behaviour, but finding his mercurial temperament somewhat vexing in the moment. "A young cadet with a key came by, searching for something. You attacked him. You would have killed him, but I stopped you."

"Really? Then whose blood is this?" he demanded as he showed him his hand.

"Mine!"

"Yours?" Geoffrey asked in genuine surprise, though the suspicion quickly returned as he tried unsuccessfully to remember what he'd just done. He remembered biting, and then that sense of euphoria. "That can't be." He frowned. Not that he had anything else to compare it to, but the experience had been _too good_ for that to be the case. "You're a leech, not a human."

"Geoffrey, I swear to you it was mine. Do you see anyone else here, dead or otherwise?" Jonathan asked as he turned his head slightly so Geoffrey could see the blood staining his shirt, and the two puncture marks that were nearly healed.

Geoffrey looked around, subconsciously licking the blood from his fingers as he did so before wiping them absently against his thigh. "…No." That left him feeling decidedly uneasy.

"Well then?"

Geoffrey's attention returned to Jonathan's throat, the tip of his tongue running slowly along his upper teeth, fang to fang as he looked at the wound, remembered how he'd felt. He wanted to do it again. He suddenly inhaled sharply, eyes widening for a moment. He shouldn't _want_ that at all, and needing to think about something other than Jonathan's throat and blood, he remembered the cadet and his eyes narrowed accusingly. "Did _you_ kill him?"

"What? No, of course not!" Jonathan frowned when Geoffrey snorted in disbelief, the brunet obviously looking to argue over listen. "You should be able to determine that for yourself if you don't believe me," he said, his tone somewhat brusque. "Look at me," he commanded, and when Geoffrey merely glanced up at him, the frown deepened, and he snarled in frustration. "No. _Really_ look at me. Does it look like I've fed recently?"

"How the hell would I know that?" Geoffrey replied churlishly as he gave Jonathan a hard stare, though as he studied the raven, he could almost sense his physical condition, and he blinked in surprise with the realization. He could tell by just looking that Jonathan was tired, and that he was low on blood. Weakened. _Vulnerable_. He was intrigued by this newfound ability, and then an uncomfortable thought hit him: Jonathan's state was due to the fact that he'd been neglecting himself to look after him instead. He shifted his posture awkwardly, trying to ignore the way that thought stirred up a lot of unfamiliar, unwanted emotions. "So where is he then?" he asked gruffly, changing the subject.

"I let him go." Jonathan managed a hint of a smile, pleased to see that Geoffrey's vampiric senses were working despite the brunet's continued petulance. "While you were distracted, I convinced him to believe a different version of the events, which he did, and sent him on his way. But if your guard is trained as well as you'd have me believe, I know it's only a matter of time before they come back to investigate."

"What'd you tell him?"

"Giant bats."

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. "Jesus," he muttered. "Yeah, they'll be back. A rookie ranting about something so utterly ridiculous? Damned right they'll suspect leeches and come check it out."

Jonathan scowled. "My apologies for not having had a better scenario at the ready. The boy suggested it, and under the circumstances, it seemed better than leaving him here or killing him, wouldn't you agree?"

"Marginally," Geoffrey said, and he snorted. "Tch. Well, this place is useless now. No sense loitering about until they show up. I'm not ready to answer questions. Let's go." With that, he headed for the doorway and stepped outside, pausing for a moment as he looked at the night sky. It looked much different now than it had when he'd been human. Everything was sharper and brighter. "It's…amazing," he said, forgetting that he was supposed to be angry with Jonathan.

"Parts of it can be, yes," Jonathan said softly. "I can show you more, if you'll let me?" he offered and held out a tentative hand.

Geoffrey gave him an apprehensive look, and when he saw no deception in the pale blue - he was glad that still looked the same to him - he grasped Jonathan's hand, blinking in surprise when he suddenly found himself on the second floor balcony of the building next door. "How…is that done?" he asked.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin. He'd always found Geoffrey's curiosity and desire to learn to be very attractive traits. The brunet had a sharp mind and was very intelligent - except for when he was being irritatingly pig-headed and deliberately contrary in defense of Priwen's directives. "It's…hard to explain, like asking me how I walk. To me, it's like a…jump reflex. Just visualize yourself where you want to be, and imagine jumping there. The motion can be a bit nauseating at first, but you'll get used to it quickly. I don't even think about it anymore, really."

"How far can you go?"

Jonathan's grin widened, and he shrugged. "I don't know. It gets easier and I can travel farther the more time that passes. I can manage about fifty feet? Though stick with shorter distances until you learn to control it."

Geoffrey cocked his head to the side slightly, contemplating that. There was a quick puff of smoke, and he appeared on Jonathan's other side. He smirked, and a couple seconds later, he stumbled briefly and brought a hand up to his head as the nausea caught up to him. "God, that's fucked up," he murmured, and before long, he blinked to clear the last of the dizziness, and looked at the raven. "Well then!" He proved to be a quick study, and within ten minutes, he'd learned to control his movements to where it didn't leave him light-headed. As they walked along the tops of the perimeter walls and rooftops, Geoffrey found the shadow jump to be a very useful skill and he made a mental note to include looking _up_ as part of routine patrol procedures. Eventually, they wound up at Stonebridge Cemetery again, and Geoffrey headed towards Carl Eldritch's grave - he wanted his revolver. Jonathan had said nothing about it, just had silently accompanied him. It was still in the grass where he'd left it, and he stooped to pick it up, deliberately avoiding looking at the marker knowing that his mentor wouldn't be pleased with him. _It's my time now_ , he mentally reminded himself as he put the revolver in its holster. _The next chapter_ , he added and then headed back to the footpath. He saw Jonathan watching him, and he arched a brow. "What?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Nothing, really. I was just curious about what you planned on doing next."

Geoffrey shrugged. "Leeches aren't going to kill themselves now, are they?" he said casually, the contempt he felt obvious.

Jonathan snorted in amusement. "You do remember that you _are_ one now, yes?"

"Tch, yes. Doesn't mean I don't still think them vile, disgusting beasts." Geoffrey gave a brief, sidelong glance to Jonathan, and then flicked his gaze back to the path ahead. "One or two might be redeemable."

Jonathan had to smirk. He knew at one time, Geoffrey would have sooner slit his own throat than ever admit something like that. "Does that mean you'll call off the Great Hunt?"

"I haven't decided yet," Geoffrey's eyes narrowed slightly in contemplation. "Call it a hiatus for now; I want to deal with those damned infected skals first." 

Jonathan considered that for a few moments. "I agree," he said finally. "To stop the spread of the infection, they must be destroyed. Even if I could cure the symptoms, mentally they're far too feral to be helped at that stage." He sighed. "For those poor, tortured souls, killing them is the only humane solution."

Geoffrey sneered. "They're not human. They're vermin. No one feels sorry for the rats that spread their plagues through the streets, and those skals are no different. As far as I'm concerned, I'll show no mercy when dealing with them, and I'll order my Guard to do the same. Hell, if I had my way, I'd kill them all myself and I promise you, I'll take pleasure with every single one I put down." He saw Jonathan's brows go up, and he snorted. "Don't judge me, Reid. I haven't turned into a raving psychotic. I've always despised leeches, and putting an end to the beasts, it's just a job. But these bastards? It's personal now."

Jonathan gave a single nod of understanding. He could see why Geoffrey would hate the infected skals more than any other vampire, if only because of what he'd lost because of it. "That's dangerous."

Geoffrey arched a brow. "You think I can't fight them? That I'm too weak?"

Jonathan's lips turned up. "Hardly. I've watched you fight." He sobered. "I meant making things too personal. It's easy to become selfish if you let your own interests get in the way of best interests." A small shrug followed. "I'm not saying don't do it. I'd be a hypocrite to suggest that. I'm just saying to be mindful of what you're doing so you don't regret it." He cast a brief glance in Geoffrey's direction. He still stood by the choices _he'd_ made.

"I think my interests and best interests are one in the same." Geoffrey frowned. "I can't see anyone shedding too many tears over not having to worry about mindless beasts roaming the streets. I consider it a public service. And if I can make it hurt for those skals in the process, lucky me." He shadow jumped down a flight of stairs, and as they crossed a stone bridge, they heard a scream from below, followed by a bloodcurdling shriek. Geoffrey's eyes narrowed, a disgusted sneer drawing his upper lip back. "Skals," he murmured, and he stood on edge of the parapet, looking down into the courtyard. There were two of them, and they had two women - mourners, from the clothing they wore - cornered. The one had already been killed, and was already being devoured. The other was currently trapped against the stone abutment, and was screaming as the remaining skal tore into her throat. "Like I said, vermin. Nothing worth saving in that."

With a glance at Jonathan, Geoffrey stepped over the edge, easily dropping the ten feet to the ground. The skal stopped its attack and turned towards him when it realized he was there, and with an enraged howl, it focused on him, leaving the doomed woman whimpering and bleeding profusely. A cold smile slowly spread across Geoffrey's face as he put himself into a ready stance. "That's right, I'm not one of you now, am I you bastard?" he jeered, and he punched the skal in the face, sending it reeling back a couple of paces as he shadow jumped forward and grabbed it by the wrist, using its momentum to spin it around, grab a fistful of scraggly hair, and jerk its neck to the side, sinking his fangs into its jugular and draining it. Dropping the body, he went after the other skal. By now, Geoffrey was feeling much more comfortable in his body as he engaged it in a fight. With what Jonathan had taught him, he was able to easily evade and parry the attacks, using his own claws to savagely decimate his enemy. Finally, with a feral snarl, he roughly bit into the neck of the skal, a low, wanton growl escaping him as he let the body fall, his eyes closed for a moment as he lost himself to that blissful ecstasy. Panting harshly, a pleased expression on his face, he licked his hand before wiping it off on the skal's filthy clothing, and then he went over to where Jonathan had been tending to the woman.

Jonathan had jumped down after Geoffrey, but when he saw that the brunet had taken out one of the skals within seconds, he instead shifted his focus to the terrified woman. She was presently watching Geoffrey, her expression one of horrified fascination. When he appeared in her line of sight, she tried to smile, but instead, started to cry. "My name is Jonathan Reid. I'm a doctor," he said as he looked her over, and gave her a small smile as he reassuringly ran a hand through her hair and brushed the tears from her cheeks. It was grim. "I'm so sorry. I can't do anything for you," he said sadly. "You’ve lost too much blood, and the bite is too severe." He put bloodied palms on her cheeks, and forced her to look at him, his gaze intense, but compassionate. "But I can make it stop hurting," he murmured. "Until you fall into that eternal sleep, there will be no more pain. I promise."

 _Stay_.

Her voice wouldn't work, but Jonathan had heard her thoughts, and he nodded. "I will." He breathed slowly and deeply as he felt her blood call to him. It was pure, and smelled sweet, and he was starving. He knew she was going to die regardless, and a low, hungry growl rumbled deep in his chest. He licked his lips, and then with a frustrated snarl, he used the last of his willpower to look away, watching Geoffrey go after the second skal. Geoffrey was captivating to watch. His skill as a fighter was obvious, it enhanced by his vampiric abilities, and Jonathan knew he'd be even deadlier once he had his weapons back. His attention was drawn back to the woman as she gasped. Finally succumbing to her injuries, she took her last breath, and Jonathan petted through her hair one last time.

_Thank you. It doesn't hurt anymore…_

Jonathan sighed as he brushed her eyes closed and stood, grateful that her suffering had ended - and that the temptation had been removed. He turned just in time to see Geoffrey feeding off the last skal and falling into that moment of bliss. A crooked smile passed across his face. The growl had caught his attention, and the image of him so unrestrained was definitely a _very_ pleasant one, despite the destruction that surrounded him. Geoffrey was certainly a powerful Ekon, and he hadn't even begun to develop his fledgling abilities yet.

"My reflexes…my strength…" Geoffrey clenched his hands into fists then opened them, looking at his palms. "I could never have done that before. I feel so _powerful_." A slow smile curved his lips upward as he looked around the courtyard. "And without weapons, too." Obviously pleased with himself, he came over to where Jonathan stood.

"As I said, I wasn't worried about your ability to fight." Jonathan was quiet for a moment. "I knew you'd be great at whatever you chose to do. Just…be careful. Hate can be a seductive mistress; don't sacrifice too much of your humanity to it to where you become a monster, too."

"Ah, Reid, I'm touched that you worry about my immortal soul," Geoffrey taunted with a smirk, though after a moment, he shook his head. "Hate is a tool, not a way of life. It drives me, but that's all." He looked at the two women, and then at Jonathan. "First one had no chance. But that one? She was done before you ever got to her," he said. "You knew that, didn't you?" He saw Jonathan give him a small nod. "And even still, you wouldn't, would you?" When Jonathan shook his head, Geoffrey ran a hand back through his hair in agitation. "How long has it been?"

Jonathan was quiet for a moment as he thought about the question. "There was the skal last night, and before that, a couple of nights?"

"You-Jesus, Reid!" Geoffrey pressed his lips together, feeling both admiration for the man's ability to resist his nature and frustrated with him for refusing to do what he needed to survive. "What the hell's the matter with you? I could see you going that long if you were doing nothing but poncing around the hospital like Swansea does all night, but you're not. You've been out here. You've been fighting skals. I know I've taken from you at least twice in that time - once when you turned me and once when you…fed me. Here." He pushed up his sleeve and held out his arm in offering.

Jonathan arched a brow, and it seemed like he stared at Geoffrey's arm for a very long time before he managed to shake his head and push it away. "No. You need it more."

Geoffrey frowned, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "Don't hand me that shit. I look at you and I can see that you're weak." He snorted when Jonathan glanced at the woman. "Not your mind. Your will is one thing. I mean your body. That fucking rookie probably could put you down as you are."

Jonathan blinked in surprise. "I don't think I'm quite that bad off," he countered.

"Shut it," Geoffrey snapped, and he gestured behind him. "I just dealt with two bastards. I've got extra to spare." Not giving Jonathan time to argue, he bit his own wrist and then held it out. "Drink it, or waste it, but there it is," he said, his tongue skating along his lower lip to lick the blood away.

"Don't do it," Jonathan whispered as the hunger stirred within him, and when Geoffrey bit his wrist and Jonathan saw the gorgeous crimson, his eyes widened as he watched it fall. "Devil," he said on a murmured growl, his fangs flashing for a moment before he grasped Geoffrey's wrist and pressed his mouth to the wound. It tasted different now than it had when Geoffrey had been mortal, but was no less addicting, or intoxicating, to Jonathan. If anything, he desired it even more because he knew he could freely have it without too much risk to the brunet. A very wanton purr rumbled deep in his throat as he drank, every nerve feeling suddenly alive and hypersensitive. He took a couple more greedy swallows, and then tore himself away with a feral snarl, fangs bared and lips stained. The euphoria was indescribable. Jonathan felt like he was floating away out of his body, and for several moments, he could only stand there and bask in that sensation.

Geoffrey didn't know what to expect. He couldn't remember clearly if Jonathan had bit him or bled him when he'd turned him; he just had a vague recollection of pain in his wrist. So, when he suddenly had Jonathan latched on to his arm and he felt lips, teeth and tongue against his skin, it startled him at first, and then sent a jolt up his spine. His breath caught, and he felt his heartrate quicken, a pleasured shiver wracking his entire frame with the sound of that purr. His eyes narrowed slightly in pleasure as he watched Jonathan, seeing the effect he was having on him, and the tip of his tongue curled around a fang as he smirked smugly. When Jonathan broke away, and he saw the rapturous expression on his face, felt the powerful aura radiating off of him, he growled in turn, suddenly unable to think of anything else but the raven.

As soon as Jonathan opened his eyes and he saw that glacial blue, Geoffrey surged forward, his hands grasping insistently to his cheeks, his mouth descending over the other's as desire overtook him. The kiss was rough and unapologetic, wanton and desperate, fuelled by raw lust and a blind fear of letting him go. Teeth grazed tongue, and Geoffrey got the hinted taste of Jonathan's blood, which only made him hungrier. He felt dizzy and nauseous and ecstatic and terrified all at once, and as soon as his brain caught up to what he'd done, he hastily pulled away, taking a step back from the other to put some distance between them.

Jonathan had not been expecting the kiss, but it had not been an unwelcome gesture, and once he'd gotten over his initial surprise, he'd returned the embrace. He felt Geoffrey's tooth catch, tasted his own blood, and when the brunet had in turn deepened the kiss, Jonathan started seriously debating taking another bite - this time from Geoffrey's throat. For a start. He was equally surprised when Geoffrey suddenly withdrew, standing away from him and looking as if he'd just seen a ghost. Jonathan frowned a little in confusion as he studied him. "Geoffrey?"

"I-I have to go back to the Guard," Geoffrey said as he held up a hand to stay the other. He was starting to feel things for Jonathan he'd not felt for another person, ever, and it was scaring him. He needed to get away. He needed to think.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jonathan said. "Not tonight. At least not right now, anyway. Let me help you."

"Stay back! I don't need your help!" Geoffrey snapped, and he took another half step back from the raven. "I have access to a room full of books, records of confessions from leeches. I'll figure it out for myself. Besides, we're creatures of deceit. I should have no problem hiding my true nature from them."

"It's more than creating the ruse, Geoffrey. You're still adjusting to your new body and your new abilities. You need to learn to control the hunger, and that comes with time, but right now, newly turned, you will struggle. For the first night, it's best to avoid temptations."

Geoffrey frowned. "You underestimate me. I am in control!"

Jonathan arched a brow as he looked around him at the carnage, touched the pad of his index finger to his tongue, and when it came away bloodied, he licked it clean. "That's what you call this? Control?" He believed that part of the brutality of Geoffrey's attack had been borne of the need to prove he wasn't a skal and as a way to make the ones 'responsible' pay for what had happened to him. As for the kiss, he'd warned Geoffrey once before that vampires had particularly expressive emotions, and he could only imagine what the brunet was dealing with in these early hours of his rebirth. Those things, he could let go, but he knew firsthand that as a neonate, the bloodlust was incredibly powerful and incredibly enticing - especially the first night. "I see," he said evenly, his expression serious as he reached into his coat and pulled out a pocket knife. "Let's test that hypothesis, shall we?" Staring at Geoffrey, he pushed up his left sleeve and slit his wrist, turning it over and letting the blood fall in thick, crimson droplets to the ground. He watched the way Geoffrey's eyes widened, the pupils dilating when he caught the scent on the air. He heard the low growl, and saw the fangs, and when Geoffrey moved to take it, Jonathan froze him in place for a couple of seconds, and snorted softly. "That is _not_ being in control," he said as he licked his own wrist, and he turned away, knowing it had been a cruel lesson.

Geoffrey bared his fangs angrily at Jonathan when he was shown his back, and once he could move again, he shadow jumped himself in front of him. "You're a bastard, Reid! You didn't tell me that turning me would make me your slave!"

Jonathan glanced at him through his brows, eyes narrowed dangerously. "I beg your pardon?" he asked coolly, voice clipped.

Geoffrey gestured around him. "These skals? Yeah, I wanted them. Bad. _Really_ bad. But you!" He scowled. "What did you do? What is it…why can't I stop myself?"

Jonathan's brow arched, his ire waning as he understood what it was Geoffrey was asking. "I didn't do anything to you. You did it to yourself." He saw the scowl deepen, the blue eyes narrow, and the corners of the raven's mouth curved upwards and he let his hand rest on Geoffrey's cheek. "It's the same reason I can't control myself very well when I'm around you. I have an incredible thirst for blood, and any will help satisfy it, but I have an…addiction to yours."

For a moment, Geoffrey closed his eyes against the touch, wanting to lean into it and accept it, but then he stiffened and frowned again. "Stop talking in circles!" Geoffrey replied hotly as he pushed Jonathan's hand away. "You're not making sense!"

Jonathan's smile turned slightly awkward, and he put his hands in his pockets. "Geoffrey, I desire your blood not because it's blood but because it's yours. I… _care_ for you. A great deal." He cleared his throat and felt a warmth flood his cheeks as he glanced away for a moment, but he forced his gaze back to Geoffrey's. "I have for a while. Since before you got sick."

Geoffrey froze when he heard that, eyes wide, expression one of complete shock. He had no idea what to say in response, and he felt suddenly nauseous from the way his head was spinning and his heart was beating in his chest. "Are you saying I act like this around you because I-" He cut himself off, and shook his head, not wanting to think about the myriad thoughts he'd had about the raven, or the way he felt around him. Geoffrey didn't want to admit he had feelings for _anyone_ because losing them always hurt. And he couldn't ever feel anything for a _vampire_. He was a hunter first. And it would kill him if he ever had to put a bullet through Jonathan's heart, like he had with Ian. "N-no," he said nervously, the strength of his emotions causing him to panic. He turned and glanced over his shoulder when he heard voices, and in the distance, he could see lanterns and torches, indicative of a Priwen patrol. He turned back to Jonathan, and he forced his feelings down, needing to take back control. "You're wrong, Reid," he said, his voice slightly rough. Swallowing thickly, he clenched his hands tightly and said stiffly, "You think a lot of yourself, but I don't care about you at all."

"Geoffrey, _please_ don't do this," Jonathan said quietly.

Geoffrey dropped his gaze when he saw Jonathan's face and heard his voice. He knew what he was doing to the other, and though it tore at him, he forced himself to continue. "I don't care about anyone. Especially not vermin." He took a few steps back, and as the guard came into view in the gateway, he hunched into himself and feigned stumbling, calling out in a rasped voice, "Leech! There's a leech in the courtyard and I'm out of ammunition!"

As the patrol ran up to him, one of the cadets reassuringly helped him to his feet as a couple of the rifleman stopped and began a sweep of the area. He watched Jonathan stare at him in disbelief for a moment before there was a soft puff of black smoke and he reappeared on the parapet, disappearing over the side a second later. _Run, Jonathan,_ he thought as the guilt ripped through him for what he'd done. _Don't let them catch you…_


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Nothing beyond fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. There was one small continuity error, but insignificant to the story - it involved changing a prop someone was using. Not worth the reread. (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> So, _so_ sorry this was a longer time updating. Work and RealLife(tm) have been obnoxious this week, cutting in to writing time. However, I offer a longer chapter as compensation? ♥
> 
> Since this story was focusing on Geoffrey's change, for the most part, this chapter is basically told from his point of view. He's been a busy little bee over the past few days. I hope that you like what I'm hinting at (maybe it's too subtle, maybe it's there, slapping you in the face, but it's there!) because my head canon? I could totally see this happening... ♥ 
> 
> In the next chapter, we'll have a peek at what Jonathan's been up to, so know that he'll get some equal screen time. ~_^ So, apologies for not having too much of him in this chapter. It's not because I don't love him.
> 
> There's going to be a bit more canon divergence from this point forward. I did take some of the game lore and expand it for my own nefarious purposes. If anyone is curious, I can explain my reasonings, but I'd rather not spoil anyone before they've read the chapter. But the high level explanation is I took what was written in one of the collectible notes and took it a few steps further. To me, it makes sense, and I hope it does to you, too. I don't want to confuse anyone.
> 
> I'm feeling like there was something else I wanted to say here, but for the life of me, I'm drawing a blank. (See? This is what work does to me!) So, since I can't remember, I'll stop talking and let you enjoy the chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much everyone for sticking with this. It's sure morphed beyond what I'd expected! But, I promise you, I will NOT abandon this project, and I will keep updating as fast as I can! I feel bad for making you wait as it is! You're all aces in my book, and I adore every one of you. Keep being awesome. ♥♥

That night, when he'd returned to Priwen Headquarters, it had been easy enough for Geoffrey to hide. After greeting his men as they'd welcomed him back, and giving a very high level overview of his recovery from a 'radical treatment', he'd made excuse that he still wasn't feeling at one hundred per cent, and had disappeared into his room, telling them they would talk later. He'd felt pretty smug about pulling off the ruse, and had been fine until he'd laid down. Once he closed his eyes, that was when his mind began replaying the events of the past few hours. With nothing to distract him, he'd cycled through a rollercoaster of emotions, swinging erratically from one to the next. He was angry over what had happened to him, his hatred for the skals having only intensified in the past few hours. He felt guilty over what he'd done to Jonathan. He knew the raven hadn't deserved him siccing the patrol on him, and he hoped like hell he'd managed to escape. He was afraid, both for his future, and about his feelings. He was not used to caring, or being cared about. The last person who he'd let care about him had been Carl Eldritch. Geoffrey had loved the man like he would have his own father, and had looked up to him as a mentor, but there had never been a strong emotional bond between them. Geoffrey hadn't allowed that to happen since Ian. Though when he thought about the stolen kiss, and the taste of Jonathan's blood, he felt a strong sense of elation, and a yearning so powerful it made him ache inside. He was learning for himself what Jonathan had meant when he'd told Geoffrey that vampires were, indeed, emotional creatures and felt things more intensely than humans. It was a hard lesson to take, his tumultuous feelings making it very difficult for him to quiet his mind and find sleep. He felt like everything was spinning out of control, and he was powerless to do anything but hang on and wait for it to finally stop.

Once he was finally able to get to sleep, it had been restless. His dreams had been quick flashes of things he couldn't quite remember experiencing: the sensual glide of Jonathan's tongue over his bloodied wrist, and a very erotic vision of hyperdilated eyes rimmed by the tiniest sliver of pale blue. He remembered a kiss - not the one from the cemetery, but an equally hungry one. He remembered a tongue, and blood, and aching inside for more of both. He dreamed of Jonathan, and there, he let himself want. He imagined having more of him - not just his blood, but his body, of _possessing_ him, and that sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. And in his dreams, he could hear Jonathan's voice speaking to him - not directly, but the way one would address a memory. _Why can't you see that I only want to help you?_ He could feel the hurt; it twisted his guts and tore at his heart, the guilt weighing heavily on him. And in his sleep, where he couldn't swallow down his emotions and put on an impassive mask, a few bloody tears ran down his cheeks.

He awoke with a start, just after sunset, and he was hungry. It wasn't as bad as what he'd felt when he'd first turned and had suffered that initial thirst, but it still hurt. It clawed away at his insides, the desire for blood so strong it made it hard to think about anything else. Sitting there, he knew exactly where he could find it. It called to him, and he wanted it, but surprisingly, that desire was manageable this time. Not like it had been when he'd fought the skals. Or with Jonathan. His heart beat a little faster when he thought about that. He wanted him most of all.

There was a sharp knock at his door which startled him out of his daydreaming.

"Sir? Tea's on!" Millar's muffled voice called through the heavy oak, and Geoffrey realized he could easily identify his sergeant - not just as another warm, live body, but him specifically, even though he couldn't see him. He could hear his heartbeat and pinpoint his location in relation to his own, could follow his movements through the building. It was like a fingerprint; unique to Millar. But it wasn't just Millar's. He knew Bates was with him. So was Jackson, his other Captain, and the rest of his sergeants, Hughes, Cox and Foster. His inner circle. The ones who knew him best. The ones he _ate dinner with every night_ before going out on patrol. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath as he ran his hands back through his hair. He knew he'd have to confess to them eventually (soon!) what had happened to him, but he needed a plan, and some idea of what to say that wouldn't get him shot on the spot. Steeling himself, he decided that for now, he'd just carry on like nothing was different and see what happened.

Standing up, he padded over in stocking feet to the washtable. He was surprised to see a couple of faint crimson tracks running down his cheeks, and frowning, he splashed some water from the basin on his face. Patting himself dry with a towel, he looked at himself in the mirror and snorted. Even he thought he looked rough; he just hoped he could continue to play the _I don't feel all that great_ line a little while longer. Grabbing his boots, he carried them downstairs and sat at his place at the table, listening to the conversation going on around him as he put them on.

"My squad cleared out another nest of them down by Southwark last night," Hughes said as he sat. "Damned things spawn faster than rats; go back tomorrow, and it'll be the more of the same, I promise you that."

"I swear it's getting worse. Did the patrols catch that leech last night? The one from Stonebridge?" Cox asked. "I'd heard there were three of them."

" _Were_ three, yeah. Only one alive by the time the patrol got there. And no," Jackson said. "They chased after it, think they might have winged it, but said it was too fast. By the time they got to the upper level, it was long gone. But we'll keep an eye for it; we'll find it eventually." He grabbed an apple from the basket and took a large bite of it. "We always do," he added as he chewed.

Geoffrey was relieved to hear that. Jonathan was clever, and good at avoiding detection, but even the best could still be beaten. He was living proof of that - he'd been bitten by a filthy, infected skal, after all. The memory brought a slight sneer to his face, the expression morphing into a grimace when a bowl of pea soup was set in front of him. For several moments, he just sat there, eyeing it while everyone else tucked in. The smell of it turned his stomach, and did very little to appease the hunger that called to him, reminding him with a painful pulse through his body that there were six very accessible food sources directly in front of him. He licked along his upper lip, then saw that Millar was watching him, a concerned look on his face.

"Are you all right, Sir?" he asked.

Geoffrey nodded again as he, with some reluctance, picked up his spoon. "Aye. Still not quite myself, but I was just thinking I can't remember a time when I was this hungry before." His lips turned upwards in the parody of a smirk, and then fell as he stirred his soup, adding black pepper and salt in an effort to delay having to actually eat it.

"Bet it was fucking hideous," Hughes said leeringly, and he smirked. "But then, they all are."

Silently, Geoffrey disagreed. Skals, sure, but he didn't think he was all that hard on the eyes. And Jonathan had undoubtedly been a handsome man when alive, his features made more striking by the transformation. Even the faint scar that traversed the bridge of his nose, skipping across to arc slightly upwards along his left cheekbone - obviously made by a blade - just seemed to enhance his features. He felt his cheeks warm, and he roughly cleared his throat. When the rest of the table glanced over at him, he let his attention drop to his bowl. "They all kind of look the same to me," he remarked as he forced himself to eat a spoonful of soup, and he tried not to visibly gag as he swallowed it. He heard Bates laugh, though he didn't respond. Instead, he was doing what he could to get his dinner down. He'd just finished and set his spoon on the side of the plate when an odd look came over him. "Bollocks." Abruptly, he stood up, grabbed his napkin, and headed outside.

The men seated at the table blinked in surprise, and with a nod from Bates, Millar followed after him. When he reached the corridor, he frowned slightly, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him when he _thought_ he saw a wisp of black smoke, though he paused at the door to the back garden when he heard Geoffrey throwing up violently. He made a slight face, and after a few moments when he heard nothing else, he stepped out onto the back porch. Geoffrey had one hand against the brickwork and was just standing there, head hanging forward, though he started slightly when the other shifted his gaze sidelong to him, and he was caught in that intense blue stare. "We…uh, do you want me to get Grant or Quinn?"

"Fuck off," Geoffrey said irritably as he spat crudely. "I was just sick. Not a bloody crisis." He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth and turned to face the other. "Bates send you?" He saw the hesitant nod and he snorted as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tch. I'll be fine. Still recovering. Let's go."

Millar didn't move right away. He gave Geoffrey a curious look, head cocked slightly to the side. "You look better, Sir. But not…right." His eyes turned slightly suspicious. "What sort of treatment did Reid give you, Sir? I mean, you're tough as nails, we all know it, but that 'flu…"

Geoffrey's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits and his jaw tightened as he scowled. "Something you want to say to me, Millar?" he asked darkly, his tone glacial.

Millar took a half step back. Geoffrey could be intimidating, but there was something about how he'd asked the question that made him not want to push his luck. "N-no, Sir. It's just…good to have you back. We all worried - well, moot point now, innit?" He smiled a little.

Geoffrey silently nodded his head towards the doorway, and followed Millar back to the kitchen. The six men were silent now, and discreetly watching him, trying not to let their worry for him show. "You're worse than a bunch of old ladies," he said snarkily as he sat down in his chair. "You sure you don't want to trade your rifles for some crochet?" He declined anything else to eat, though when a glass of water was put in front of him, he took a very small, careful sip of it, and managed to keep that down. "Right. So tonight's plan is a simple one. We focus on those bloody skals. God knows there's enough of them roaming the streets, adding to this epidemic."

"And what of the Great Hunt?" Jackson asked as he polished his glasses on his napkin.

"On hiatus for now," Geoffrey said, and when the other men exchanged curious glances, he added, "I'm not saying that if you get an opportunity to take out some common leech, don't take it. But for now, let them think they're safe in their lairs. I'm setting specific targets. Trust me, these mindless, bodged together bastards are the bigger threat. We get rid of them, well, we'll be doing London a public service." Geoffrey's eyes narrowed, his expression cold. "When you run into them - and remind your men that they're usually not alone - kill them on sight, burn them if you can. They _all_ need to go. No hesitation. No mercy." A predatory smirk curved his lips upward. "I'm sure you can find decent hunting just about anywhere in the city."

Thirty minutes later, the various patrols had left to search their assigned areas. Despite Bates' wheedling for him to come along with his group, Geoffrey had not joined up with anyone in particular, opting instead to hunt on his own. He knew there were a couple of small squads in the area, and every so often he would hear the sound of gunfire, or the pained shriek of a skal. He'd already killed two himself - one he'd beheaded with his sword, the other he'd violently torn out its throat as he'd greedily drank from it. The blood had given him focus and clarity, temporarily satisfying his thirst even as he craved more. Eventually, he found himself down by the water, and he made his way along the riverfront. As he headed north, he passed through a wrought iron gate, and then he suddenly stopped, his heartrate quickening slightly as he felt a strong presence nearby. He surveyed his surroundings and didn't see anything unusual - though when he glanced across the river, his eyes narrowed slightly. He was close to Pembroke Hospital.

For several minutes, he just stood there, staring at the building that rose up out of the darkness, feeble light from gas lanterns and strings of electric bulbs giving the place an eerie glow through the mist on the water. And yet, it called to him. His entire being ached as his mind turned to Jonathan. He wondered what he was doing right now. Had he slept? Had he fed? Was he okay? Those thoughts stayed with him, and the next thing he knew, he'd crossed the bridge from Whitechapel, and was standing outside the fence, looking up at the building, and the windows he knew were part of Jonathan's office. He didn't want to go in the front door and deal with nurses and questions, and before he could change his mind, he'd made the jump to Jonathan's balcony. The lights were dimmed, suggesting that the raven wasn't in. But that didn't mean he wouldn't be back later, and Geoffrey would wait. He went to enter the room, only to take a half-step back when he felt as if he'd just run into a strong electrical field. Frowning, he tried again, only this time, he grimaced and put a hand to his temple when he felt a sharp spike of pain in his head, and then it clicked. "Invitation. …Shit." The hospital proper, as a public venue, he could freely come and go, but Jonathan's private space was another matter. Unlike when he was mortal, and could just go where he pleased, manners be damned, he was now bound by some ancient ritual of forced social etiquette.

With an impatient huff, he turned to go, only to pause when he heard the key in the lock. A smirk curved his lips upward as he imagined the look on Jonathan's face to find him lurking about on his balcony, though his expression fell to a scowl when he heard Edgar's muffled voice. As the door opened, Geoffrey could hear the older man talking about some experiment he'd been working on, and he snorted as he moved to step down to the ground, only to pause when he heard his name.

"I can't believe you destroyed all of Geoffrey McCullum's blood samples, Jonathan. Why would you do that? We were conducting research."

"You have the prepared slides, and the notes. The blood was too dangerous to keep."

"We're immune to the virus, Jonathan," Edgar reminded.

" _We_ are. The rest of the staff _isn't_." Jonathan snorted. "You remember that there are dozens of mortals here, yes?"

"Yes, yes, you're right, of course. I sometimes forget about their limitations now that I don't have to think about such mundane things like disease." Edgar sighed. "What I wouldn't give for just _one_ vial. To study. You're sure he's…well, dead?"

"That would be highly inappropriate, Edgar. And I'm sure. I watched him die."

"And he didn't respawn as a skal?" Edgar adjusted his glasses. "Well, that's interesting. I thought for sure he would. Perhaps the virus wasn't as strong as we'd initially thought!"

"No, Edgar. He would have. I simply made sure that he didn't."

"Oh, well…good then. Though you have to admit, from a purely _scientific_ viewpoint, it would have been interesting to see the outcome, observe the transformation and document it. Don't you agree?"

Geoffrey scowled, his hatred for the other simmering as a silent rage inside of him. He'd be the first to admit that there was no love lost between him and Edgar Swansea. He could accept the other man wanting to see him dead - after all, Geoffrey would admit to wanting to turn Edgar into a living torch. He could even accept Edgar wanting to see him punished and suffering. He just hated the idea of being seen as nothing more than Swansea's lab rat; a trial study. But despite how much that pissed him off, he _loathed_ how Edgar cozied up to Jonathan, playing the part of the caring friend when it was obvious he was just using the man for his own gains. Just the sound of that ingratiating voice touched off a wave of intense jealousy and animosity that had Geoffrey seeing red. "Fucking sleazy git," he snarled lowly as he took one of the stake-like crossbow bolts he carried and, with a dark, angry growl, he drove it into the doorframe before he dropped over the balcony side to the ground, and then jumped to the bridge, and back to the Whitechapel side of the river.

Standing on the opposite bank, he watched as Jonathan came to the balcony. He saw Jonathan pull the bolt free from the wooden frame and then turn to look out into the night, searching. He was far enough away that he couldn't see his face clearly, but for a moment, it seemed as if the raven's eyes had found his, and Geoffrey's heart ached as he felt that glacial blue on him.

_Please stop running…_

Whether Jonathan had said it to him specifically, or it had just been a passing thought, Geoffrey heard it. He could feel the pain in the words, and he had to clench his jaw against the threatened waver as another lance of guilt ripped through him. From the shadows, he took a hesitant step, reaching out a hand as if to touch Jonathan, and then, squeezing his eyes shut, he turned away, the hand curling into a fist. "M'not running. I've just got shit to do," he said aloud on a gruff murmur, and he quickly made his way back down the river. As he put more distance between himself and the hospital, he reminded himself that he'd just gone there to make sure Jonathan was doing okay, and now that he had, he tried to convince himself that that had been good enough. Returning to his hunting, he knew it hadn't been. He felt himself growing more and more agitated as the emotional turmoil raged inside of him. That in turn fuelled a desire to find and hurt _something_ , an outward expression to ease the internal pain he was feeling.

The fact that he was hungry wasn't helping improve his disposition any. He quickly learned what Jonathan had meant the night he'd spoken to him about his own bloodlust, how the more he had, the stronger he craved it, and Geoffrey wondered if he'd ever be able to resist its pull like the raven did. Even now, he knew there were skals nearby, and their blood called to him. A wry smirk briefly curved his lips upward. Jonathan hadn't been that far off the mark when he'd compared himself to a drug addict. Geoffrey just wondered why his _drug of choice_ seemed to be leeches. He contemplated that as he walked. He'd managed to keep himself relatively under control when he was back at Priwen Headquarters. Granted, he'd been _very_ aware of all the people around him, and some men's blood called to him stronger than others, but the hunger hadn't been relentless. More like a slow burn that he was conscious of, but could ignore if he chose to. Though once he'd been outside and on the chase, that base desire had surged as he'd heard the skals and the sewer beasts crying out. Thinking about feeding off of them got his heart racing; it was more than sustenance. It was a need - a rush - and it hurt how badly he wanted it.

He found himself in a block of warehouses down by the railyard, and as he surveyed the area, he could smell the scent of blood heavy in the air. Human. He could tell. Using his vampiric senses, he looked around the area, and saw no signs of life - but he knew where the blood was, and he followed it. As he entered the building, he saw the remnants of a body, and his eyes narrowed as he became aware of another presence with him. Again, he looked around, and when he saw a pair of skals, he drew his sword and went after them. The first one was dispatched quickly; he speared it through the heart with his sword from behind. He smelled the skal blood on the air, and the hunger in him rose as he looked at the second one. It charged him, and Geoffrey easily dodged the attack, coming around and digging his claws into the bald head to hold the skal still as he bent its neck back and drank from its throat. He growled wantonly as the beast continued to struggle in his grasp, it eventually stilling as Geoffrey killed it, and he let the body fall. He drew a couple of deep breaths, riding that pleasured wave of euphoria for several moments, and once his vision cleared and he came back to the present, he licked the tips of his fingers, sated for the moment. Returning his sword to its scabbard, he went out the back, jumping down off the loading docks, and walked along the train tracks for a bit. Eventually, he entered a more commercial district, businesses like bakeries and printing shops still open and working late into the night to prepare for the next day. He passed by a stack of pallets and heard a whimper. Peering behind it, he saw a boy, not more than eleven or twelve, huddled up behind it. "Come on out," he said evenly, a brow arching when he saw he was splattered with blood. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I was working, Sir. I'm a courier; I deliver packages from here to some of the late-night shops in the West End. I'm good at it; you have to be fast if you want to make money. There's a lot of us doing it, so the more jobs you can knock off, the more you can get." The boy licked his lips to moisten them. "We was running, like usual, and then suddenly, this… _monster_ grabbed my mate, Jimmy. Dragged him off down the tracks, where you came from." He met Geoffrey's eyes. "It was the Sewer Dog. It was-" The boy cut himself off, eyes going wide as the creature he'd spoken of was suddenly _there_ , and he cried out in a panic when it took a swipe at Geoffrey and sent him flying.

"Bastard!" Geoffrey shouted as he got to his feet, feeling the scratches already starting to heal. The beast had the boy trapped behind the pallets, and was pawing at him, so Geoffrey shot two crossbow bolts at it, hitting it in the shoulder and the side. It howled in pain, and turned towards him, forgetting about the boy for the moment. Geoffrey drew his sword, and got ready, a hint of a smile on his lips. The beast charged, and reflexively, Geoffrey held up a hand in defense, his brows going up when the creature seemed to stop dead in its tracks. It was like what Jonathan had done to him. He pondered that for a moment, and then he grinned wickedly as he grabbed the creature and bit into its neck.

The beast howled again, and swiped at Geoffrey, eventually dislodging him and disarming him, and went on the attack. Geoffrey snarled and picked up his sword, charging head on. He evaded the swipe of claws by feinting to the left, and then pivoting and delivering a killing thrust through the beast's heart. His eyes fell half shut and he let out a very contented purr as the thrill of the kill washed over him, and with a glance towards the boy, he went to check on him. "Did it bite you?" he asked when he saw the crimson stain blooming against his shirt. He could smell the blood, and his lip drew back slightly in the beginnings of a sneer. He could hear the boy's rapid heartbeat, and feel his pulse, the purity of his blood a very tempting prospect. When the boy didn't answer, Geoffrey grasped the boy's chin, his eyes hungry as he looked at him, turning his head to the left and the right, looking for bite marks. From what he could tell, it was just a scratch. A shallow one, but it was still bleeding pretty steadily.

"How did you do that?" the boy asked, still in a state of shock from what he'd just witnessed. He caught sight of Geoffrey's teeth, and his eyes went even wider. "You - you're a vampire!" he said, and he struggled in vain to get out of Geoffrey's hold.

The struggle made Geoffrey want the blood that much more, and he could smell it heavy in the air. Though despite the eternal thirst he felt, and the inherent sweetness of such an innocent, he found that the call in this case was not completely irresistible. After a moment's deliberation, he let him go. He took a deep, slow breath and let it out, and then met the boy's frightened eyes. "I'm not anything. I'm just a bad nightmare you're having. And you should be home in bed now."

"But…my job…"

"You're a boy. Go to bed and find a day job." He saw the way the boy's eyes glazed over, watched him nod slowly. "Go on. Stay out of this part of town. It's shit." He waited until the boy obediently walked off, and then he frowned as he looked at the boy's blood that stained his fingers. Curious, he licked the pad of his thumb. He inhaled sharply as he tasted it, and the resulting jolt was rather pleasant, but it didn't seem to do as much for him as the skals did. He cleaned the remaining digits, relishing in the brief rush it gave him, and then his frown returned. 

He had questions about who he was, and what he was, and what the hell he was even doing. He knew for sure that he wanted to stay with the Guard, though he had no idea how he was going to make that work. How hypocritical it would be for him to ask his men to accept him, a vampire, as leader of the Guard of Priwen when everything he'd read from his predecessors, everything he'd taught them, had spoken of zero compromise. And if that wasn't complicated enough, after tonight he realized he _really_ wanted Jonathan, and he _definitely_ had no idea what to do about that. It terrified him how quickly he'd come to care for the raven, especially since Geoffrey didn't really feel an emotional attachment to most people. He thought often of the kiss he'd stolen the night before in the cemetery, and that memory warmed him more than any blood could. At least until he remembered Ian, and what that had felt like. His frown deepened, and he snarled softly. He'd hardened his heart after he'd killed his brother, and he swore never again would he ever let himself love someone that strongly with all his emotions. It had hurt too much. Yet somehow, Jonathan had been able to just creep past his internal defenses, and despite his best efforts, he'd been powerless to stop it from happening. Geoffrey hated him for it as much as he loved him for managing to do it. Though with him being a hunter, and Jonathan being a vampire, he couldn't see how it would work. So Geoffrey had pushed him away, to protect Jonathan, sure, but mostly to protect himself. It was cowardly. His self-imposed island of exile was lonely. But it was safe, and he didn't have to feel vulnerable there or worry about being hurt. It was better.

At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. And that only left him feeling more tetchy in general. He'd spent the rest of the night walking through the seedier parts of town, violently decimating anything that crossed his path. After a while, he hadn't even wanted the blood any more. He'd just wanted to hurt the beasts he fought, make them feel physically what he was dealing with emotionally. Finally, near to dawn, he'd returned to Priwen Headquarters, exhausted and dirty, full of blood, but empty inside. He made a half-hearted attempt to wash his hands and face, and then had fallen into bed, hoping like hell for a dreamless rest.

His sleep had been silent, but restless, and when he'd opened his eyes, the sun was still up. The hunger gnawed at him now that he was awake, but it wasn't as strong as it had been the first couple of nights, and he wondered if that was something that would get easier with time. Getting out of bed, he'd kept to the shadows in the corridors as he'd moved through the building, avoiding contact with the daylight. After getting cleaned up and dressed, he'd made his way down to the vault, hoping he could find some information that might shed some light on his current situation. He knew, both from his own education, and from his conversations with Jonathan, that there were different classes of vampires. He read everything he could find on the subject, and he knew that he was an Ekon, but he couldn't find _anything_ to explain some of the unique characteristics he seemed to possess - or anything about the abilities he'd seen Jonathan use. His lips pressed into a thin line and he frowned. He would need to approach this from a different angle. His eyes scanned the shelves, searching, and then he selected a single volume. It was leather bound and worn, and had obviously been leafed through on countless occasions. If nothing else, it would serve as a bargaining chip.

When he headed back upstairs, he was surprised to find that it was nearly nine. Had he really been down there for six hours? He headed to his room to collect his coat, only to pause and arch a brow when he ran into Foster in the corridor. "What?" he asked when he saw the way the other was watching him.

"We missed you at dinner, Sir. Wondered if you'd gone off early or something."

"Bloody nannies!" he exclaimed. "Did anyone bother to check the damned vault?" Geoffrey asked, and when he saw the surprised look on Foster's face, he snorted derisively. "Try there next time, yeah?" He took his sword and his revolver with him, opting to leave the crossbow at home this time. Slipping the book into a leather messenger bag, he headed out, only to be stopped again, this time by Hughes. He pursed his lips as he stared at the man, and when the other said nothing, he rolled his eyes. "Well?"

"Was just wondering if my squad could go with you tonight, Sir. It's been a while since we've worked together, and I'd like the lads to see how it should be done."

"Not tonight," Geoffrey said. "I'm not going on patrol. I have business in the West End." He stared hard at Hughes, as if daring him to press, and when he didn't, he turned, and continued down the corridor. Once he finally made it outside, he found himself slightly irritated over having been detained. He wasn't exactly looking forward to this particular errand, and he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. Plus, he needed to hunt. He may not have been starving, but he still found it difficult to focus completely over the call of his hunger. 

He snorted under his breath as he walked. Truth told, he hated the West End. It was probably one of the safest districts in the city in terms of vampire activity, but being there made him feel uncomfortable. The rich elite were some of the most pretentious and phoney people he'd ever met, and he wasn't one for putting on airs to try to impress them. A hint of a smirk curved his lips upward. He actually preferred to see how far he could push before he outright offended them. Just before he passed through the gates, he saw a couple of rats scurrying around, and expression contemplative, he reached down and grabbed one. He studied the brown furry body, and then, eyes narrowing, he bit into it and drank its blood. It was warm, and it took the edge off, but still he made a face as he dropped the rat to the ground. It wasn't _good_ by any stretch, and as he resumed his walk, he had to give Jonathan a lot of credit for choosing to feed on vermin over anything else. He was starting to understand that a lot of that vampire nature he'd been raised to hate - the bloodlust, the sadism, the evil beast - was truly based on choice, not fate. He frowned, the idea leaving him feeling very twitchy. Was it only because of his change that he was finally able to appreciate this, or had he always suspected on some subconscious level, and it had taken the acquaintanceship of the notorious Doctor Reid to help him understand? It was just one more question in a maelstrom of questions that continued to swirl around in his head. He huffed softly to the night sky. He used to think he knew all the answers and he wondered when the world had become so philosophical.

The streets were quiet as Geoffrey walked along the pavement. He could hear rats scrabbling in the leaves, and the occasional shriek from a skal far in the distance, but here, he was alone. And right now, he was fine with that. He paused in front of Temple Church, and he studied the structure, the light stone a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded it. He'd always believed in God to some degree - not enough to where he'd attended services every Sunday and lived in fear of the Lord's wrath, but he knew that there was some higher power that existed. It was the only explanation he had as to why holy symbols worked against vampires - and it showed him how many men of the cloth truly did not have faith in their own teachings for the number that wound up bitten. He headed down a side alley, and when he reached a stone archway that led down into the church undercroft, he slowed his pace, taking each stair with deliberate intent. When he reached the landing, he glanced around the candlelit alcove for a moment, and then descended the last few steps that opened up into a large stone vault. Despite its size, the room was well lit and warm, likely from the dozens and dozens of candelabras that burned. At the far end of the room, seated at a modest looking writing table, sat an older gentleman, bearded, bespectacled, and wearing a turban, and Geoffrey's jaw tightened as he approached him, steps measured. "Usher Talltree," he said, the disdain he felt for the man obvious even though he'd never met him in person.

"Geoffrey McCullum," the olive-skinned man returned in greeting as he turned a tarot card over on the polished wood. "I had wondered if the cards were playing tricks on me when they said to expect you tonight, and yet here you stand." He glanced up at the brunet, an enigmatic smile passing across his face. "And changed, too. Interesting. But for the better?"

Geoffrey sneered. "I didn't come here for carnival tricks. I'm here for information."

"I already told your people what I knew - which was nothing - when they were here a couple of months ago, investigating. Nothing has changed since then."

"I'm not here about the epidemic," Geoffrey said. "I'm here for other reasons."

"Well, this is an occasion! The leader of Priwen and the primate of the Brotherhood, together under one roof. It's been some time since that last occurred." 

"I can see why that is so," Geoffrey snorted contemptuously, his eyes narrowing. "There is a lot of bad blood between us."

"Not really," Usher said as he set his cards down and leaned back a little in his chair, arms folded across his abdomen. "I don't really know you, Geoffrey beyond what the cards have told me. I bear you no ill will. I disagree with a lot of your predecessors' methods, but you haven't been the leader for that long yet that I'll paint you with that same brush. You have yet to make your mark, and I am…cautiously optimistic about what I've seen." He chuckled then. "I don't see our two organizations ever uniting, it's just not in the cards. But our different methods have different applications in different circumstances, so maybe that isn't a bad thing. Still, I wonder if perhaps our goals might align a little better to where we can at least see each other as allies?"

Geoffrey frowned. "Allies? I was warned about you. About the Brotherhood. That you can't be trusted. That you side with leeches, and protect them. That you don't see them as threats."

Usher's expression broke into a wide grin. "And yet here you stand before me, a vampire yourself, seeking information. Tell me something. How did the Guard react to the news of its leader being _a leech_?" He chuckled softly when he saw the scowl, and the way Geoffrey looked away from him. "A curious thing, where you've placed your trust," he remarked, and he peered over his glasses at the brunet.

"I trust them!" Geoffrey replied hotly. "I would die for any of them!"

Usher arched a brow. "Trust in them…but not in the mandate. Again, a curious thing." He studied the man in front of him. Strong, determined, charismatic - and lost. "I have no doubt that you're an excellent detective, Geoffrey, but you've limited yourself by staying within the rigid lines Kendall Stone and Carl Eldritch have drawn for you. You see what you want to see, not what you need to see. Imagine if you just opened your eyes."

"Mind your own!" Geoffrey snapped, an uncomfortable feeling passing through him as he remembered the similar conversation he'd had with Jonathan in the cemetery. "What would a librarian know about it anyway?"

Again, Usher smiled. "I know that Carl Eldritch labelled me a vampire many years ago. Not for any tangible reason, but because he could. Even now, I remain on the Guard's list." He interlaced his fingers as he rested his forearms on the desktop and leaned forward slightly as he gave the brunet a warm smile. "Tell me, Geoffrey, am I a vampire?"

"This is ridiculous. We don't just… _accuse people_ of being vampires! There's an investigation done. Reports confirm or deny."

"Please. Humour me."

Geoffrey rolled his eyes and huffed impatiently, but looked at the other. A brow arched when he detected a human heartbeat, and could sense the beginnings of an infection in the other's blood. "You're ill," he remarked.

"Yes. A bit of a cold. I really shouldn't spend as long as I do in this damp crypt."

"I don't understand. How could Carl make a mistake like this?" It was a rookie move and Carl had been the best. But to do it deliberately, that didn't make any sense to him, either.

"I'm sure something must have compelled him," Usher chuckled, opting to take the high road and leaving speculations for another time. "Words are powerful weapons. They can start wars and destroy the minds they touch. If you have one takeaway from our conversation it's this: don't believe everything you read."

Geoffrey exhaled hard through his nose in obvious exasperation. "Ridiculous! How am I supposed to trust anything? If everything is lies-"

"No, I didn't say everything was lies. I said don't believe everything," Usher interrupted. "There is much truth out there, some known, some yet waiting to be discovered. And not everything you find to be incorrect is necessarily a lie. Sometimes it's just an idea misunderstood. But that's why the world needs us _librarians_." He chuckled at the withering look he got. "The Brotherhood, we are the curators and archivists, a role we happily undertake. We research the legends and the lore, conduct our own investigations to prove or disprove what we read. Legends are passed on through observations and memories and human fallibilities. If one experience differs from another, variations occur. Unfortunately, Kendall Stone believed that the solution to that problem was to burn what he deemed useless or contrary to his line of thinking, and we have no way of knowing what was lost."

Geoffrey frowned in thought as he considered that. He didn't like it, but it made sense. He was quiet for a moment. "I'll have your name removed from the list." 

"I'd appreciate that. I'm sorry to say I'm very mortal, and a rather mundane one at that." Usher shuffled his cards and began dealing a new tableau. "You said you wanted information? What is it you seek?"

"I want information on vampire hunters."

Usher gave him an odd look. "I would have thought the Guard of Priwen would have had reams of information on that particular subject in its vault."

Geoffrey loosed a soft snarl of frustration. "Not vampire hunters. Hunters. That are vampires."

"Oh, I see!" Usher glanced at the cards, and turned another one over on top. His brows went up and he looked over at Geoffrey with some measure of surprise. "It makes perfect sense now."

Geoffrey was getting irritated and starting to lose patience. "Then out with it!" he said. "Enough riddles. Just tell me what you know about them."

"To be honest, I don't know much about them at all. I've never had the fortune to talk with one to document anything. Most of what we have is based on rumour and legends, highly speculative, but I can tell you that I know without a doubt that they exist. They're known as Nemrods, the Legendary Hunters. They feed on the blood of their prey, and move silently through the world, able to conceal their true nature from both mortals and immortals. How they do this, I don't know, though if I were to hazard a guess, I'd think it works much the same way a vampire can fool a human into believing him mortal - only stronger." A cryptic smile passed across his face, and then he sobered. "I'm sorry I can't help you further, but the cards predict you'll find the answers you seek in due course."

"Do they also tell you where I should start looking?" Geoffrey asked snarkily.

"No, but the answers will come when the time is right." Usher's expression was serious as he stared at him. "The time will be right when you make your peace. Like all vampires, you will struggle with this life, and I know that you struggle; I can see it in your eyes. But unlike most, your greatest battles will not be with the blood."

Geoffrey snorted. "Right. Because I can go a damned minute without thinking about…blood." Reflexively, he licked his lower lip as he thought about Jonathan, and wondered if he should try to go back to the hospital again, Swansea be damned. "I'm a vampire. I need to have it."

"That is true. But your bloodlust will not be the biggest challenge you face. Yours will be in dealing with the pain you carry, for the voluntary isolation you force upon yourself, believing it a choice. You think your solitude is your armour, but it's your anchor. It weighs you down. Trust people. Sometimes they surprise you."

"Is that what the cards tell you?" Geoffrey scoffed. "It's bullshit. All of it. I've gotten this far just fine. I think I know what works for me." Still, he frowned, Usher's words hitting a little _too_ close to the mark, and it left him feeling unsettled. Forcing himself to focus, he said, "Well, this was a waste of time."

"Was it?"

"I'd say so. You speak to me about becoming allies, about trust, and then try to muddle my head, offer me nothing except more questions and rhetoric."

"What is it you think I possess that would give you that clarity?" When Geoffrey merely scowled at him, jaw clenched and unable to provide an answer, Usher's lips twitched upward briefly. "So, you seek answers but don't know the questions you want to ask. Very well. I will give you something. It will give you a direction, young Ekon. Sometimes when we're lost in the dark, all we need is but a single point of light to help us find our way back. It's there, waiting, you just need to see it." He got up from his desk and went over to a large bookshelf, eventually pulling down an old, handwritten journal. "Find your answer within these pages, and remember that truth is not always a concept so rigid and unyielding. Truth can be fluid, like a river, changing its definition as circumstances change, as we learn and adapt." He smiled. "You have changed, Geoffrey. Priwen could, too, if you would allow it. You've already proven yourself much more agreeable than your predecessor. At least you were willing to talk to me."

"Tch." Geoffrey arched a brow as he was handed the book, and he briefly skimmed through the handwritten entries, observing that there were notes of reference throughout, and then he turned his attention back to Usher, studying him. "All right. Consider this a token of good faith, then, in exchange." He opened his messenger bag and pulled out a book. "This was one of the reference books taken back in October. I'm returning it to you." He saw the shocked expression on Usher's face as he set the book on the edge of the writing desk. "What's wrong, Talltree? Your bloody cards didn't show you that one coming?" The smirk widened as he put the journal in his bag, and then he met Usher's gaze. "Don't think that by giving me this it means I won't keep watching you," he added warningly.

"I would expect nothing less, and I will look forward to our future conversations. You're an interesting Ekon. Born to be something great, once you realize it." He chuckled as he picked up the book and returned it to the shelf. "You can be better than those before you, Geoffrey, for the winds of change will blow fair for you if you trust them." He tossed one more card on the array, and a brow arched. "Hn. The Wheel of Fortune. A positive change. A surprising outcome."

Geoffrey arched a brow. "So, you know how this will turn out?"

"Nothing is set in stone, especially with vampires. Fate is still influenced by choice. Stand by yours."

"Hn." With a slight downward tilt of his chin, Geoffrey left the crypt and headed back to Whitechapel, all the while contemplating what Usher Talltree had told him. On initial reflection, Geoffrey still maintained it hadn't been much. Riddles and tricks - and a handwritten journal. Despite his skepticism, he was still curious about what was written, and what possible information he was expected to discover within the pages. When he reached Priwen Headquarters, he saw that the patrols were starting to report back in for the night, and he acknowledged some of them as he headed inside. Once in his office, he started reading the journal, his expressions changing from surprise, to anger, to denial, to outright hostility as he poured over the various passages - especially what he read about Priwen's eponymous champion. Finally, he slammed the book down on his desktop, and scowling, he returned to the vault. There, he found a single book, written by Kendall Stone, that had some information in it. Tucking it under his arm, he returned to his office, ready to conduct an investigation of his own! It was nearly sunrise by the time Geoffrey stepped out of his office, his expression grim, but determined. Usher had been right - all he'd needed was a point of light, and now that he'd found it, he knew what he was going to do. At least as far as the Guard of Priwen went. He caught a scout that was wandering the halls and sent him to get Bates and Millar. He needed to talk to them. Urgently.

Geoffrey was still pouring over the journal, cross-checking the information he'd found in the vault when there was a sharp rap at the door. A moment later, it opened, and Millar and Bates came in, closing the door behind them before taking a couple of steps into the room. "You sent for us?" Bates asked as he glanced towards the window. The shutters were closed, but he could see that the sky was starting to lighten. "It's late. Or early. Depending on how you look at it."

"Yeah. It couldn't wait." Geoffrey set the books aside and stood, coming around the desk to make the conversation feel a bit more intimate. "I've learned more information about this skal epidemic," he said. "It's worse than we thought."

"Oh? What's going on?" Bates asked.

"Those mindless skals, they're the way they are because of whatever it was Swansea did. Whatever he was planning to do, it went wrong, and it created those… _things_. But they're ill. Whatever that infection is that's in them, some kind of twisted 'flu, it gets passed on to other people when they bite. Then, that person, when the 'flu kills them, they come back as one of those skals."

Bates arched a brow. "That seems a bit hard to believe."

"See? That's what I thought, too," Geoffrey said. "Until that disgusting skal poisoned me with its filthy bite and I saw for myself that it was so."

"So, Reid cured you then?" Millar asked hesitantly as he studied the brunet.

Geoffrey pressed his lips into a thin line. He could feel their anxiety. "He tried to. He even did some of his experimental stuff on me, where he took my blood out of me and put clean blood in. It worked for a bit, but it wasn't a cure."

"You let him bite you?" Millar asked, his expression horrified.

"He took it out with a syringe, you git!" Geoffrey snarled impatiently, and when he saw the two flinch, and noticed the spike in their heartrates, he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, he said, "In the end, he turned me. To spare me becoming one of those bastards, he turned me to the kind of leech he is." He saw the two men's eyes widen, could almost smell the fear. "He didn't make me. He offered." Geoffrey glanced away for a moment. "I didn't want to die so I told him to do it."

"You _willingly_ chose to become a leech?" Bates said incredulously. "After everything we've trained for, everything we know about them, you'd take their side over dying?" He was quiet for a moment. "And then you come back, and don't tell us what you did?"

"What was I supposed to say, Bates? _Sorry for swanning off for a bit, mate, but I was completely in the shit, and my only out - other than death - was to become a vampire. So, what's on for tonight?_ " he asked snidely. "It's easy to say you'd die first - until you're faced with that choice."

"But we're not supposed to collaborate with leeches! They're not to be trusted!"

"Fuck right off! You're the ones who sent me to a leech for treatment in the first place, and then told him to save my life however possible. He tried everything his medical training could do, but this leech virus, there's no cure. Would you rather he'd let me turn into a mindless skal and brought me back here for you to end me? He did what it took to keep me alive. And since you didn't bother asking me what I thought about it all, I figured I didn't need your bloody permission to accept his offer without checking!"

"Yeah, but we thought he was, you know, actually a _good_ doctor. We didn't think you'd come back a damned vampire!"

Geoffrey's eyes narrowed. "Don't make a deal with the devil and expect to find heaven!" he snapped, and his jaw tightened for a moment. "And he is a good doctor. By rights, I should have died the night I was bitten. But here I stand. And I can still fight leeches. Even better than before."

The tension hung heavy in the air, no one saying a word. Suddenly, Bates gave a single nod of his chin, and he and Millar took a step away from each other, Millar pulling his pistol and Bates drawing his revolver and a silver-tipped stake. Bates could sometimes be a bit scattered in conversation, but he was an excellent captain, and was skilled at taking control of a situation. "We'll end you, Geoffrey," Bates said.

Geoffrey arched a brow, and then sighed when Millar and Bates drew their weapons and aimed them at him. "Do you really want to do this?" he asked as he held his hands up in front of him.

"No, not really!" Bates said, obviously upset by the whole situation. "But you're-" He gestured exaggeratedly towards Geoffrey with the tip of the stake, "-well, _…that_ now, and our orders are to exterminate leeches on sight, no mercy!" He rolled his eyes suddenly in exasperation, and on a huff, asked, "How'd you even get in here without an invitation?"

Millar shifted his gaze to briefly glance sidelong at his captain, his expression incredulous as he mentally facepalmed. "He lives here. Doesn't need a bloody invitation." He turned his attention back to Geoffrey, adjusting his grip on his pistol. "I'm really sorry, Sir. I don't want to, either, but-"

"Hn. If you're going to do it, you'd better make damned sure you put me down with the first shot," Geoffrey said quietly, eyes narrowed slightly as he looked back and forth between the two men. "You won't get a second." The stare down continued for several long moments, until finally, Bates blinked, and Geoffrey reacted. There was a quick wisp of black smoke as he moved, reappearing directly in front of Millar. He grabbed him by the throat, simultaneously grabbing the gun from him, and pivoting slightly so that he could point the weapon point blank in Bates' face, stopping the captain mid-pace as he'd moved to attack him. His upper lip drew back in a sneer, revealing the keen fangs, and he glared at them both. "I don't want to kill you, either, but the difference between us is, I will, if it comes to that."

Bates' eyes were wide, and he realized he was more afraid of Geoffrey as he looked now than he was of having the pistol pointed at him. He glanced at Millar, who looked equally terrified, and then back to Geoffrey. Nervously, he licked his lower lip and said, "I could call for the Guard. You'd kill us, but they'd finish you. You couldn't stop them all."

Geoffrey nodded stiffly. "You could. You _should_. But you haven't." He glowered at them for a moment longer, and then took a half step back, lowering the weapon and releasing his hold on Millar, who took a couple of deep, shaky breaths as he felt his throat. "Go on, then, if you're going to. I'm not exactly thrilled with this turn of events myself, but it's what it is now," he said, and his expression relaxed slightly when Bates reholstered his revolver. He glanced at Millar, and handed him back his pistol. "I'd say it shows how much I trust you if I'll admit to being a goddamned leech, doesn't it?" He was quiet for a moment, and then he snorted in amusement. "So, which one of you figured it out? You came to see me armed…"

"It was more a hunch, Sir," Millar said. "You know what we look for to spot one; you didn't do anything like that. Honest? It wasn't anything obvious, just things felt a bit dodgy. You still seem like you, but…different. More intense. Bit more of a bastard than you usually are, though I chalked that one up to the 'flu."

"You didn't ask for a cuppa straight off at dinner, got so sick right after," Bates said. "Plus, it's your eyes. They're not necessarily wrong, but they're just not… _right_. Like Millar said, you but…different. At least for those of us who know you; us, Jackson and the sergeants. The rest, probably no clue…you're a hell of an actor." He frowned a little. "I mean even now, I see the teeth, your colour makes sense, but if you hadn't said it outright what you are, I'd still be hedging." There was a brief pause. "You're not overly leechy, though, if that helps?"

"Thanks, Bates. It doesn't," Geoffrey said dryly. He let his tongue skim across his upper teeth, pausing to toy with the point of a fang. "Bollocks," he said on an exasperated huff, and he turned his back to the two guards in a show of trust as he returned to his desk leaned against the edge of it, facing them. "Things have to change with the Guard, starting now." He looked at the two men, and saw the confused looks they were giving him. "I'm a bloody vampire!" he said. "Knowing that, knowing what we do, can you accept me as your leader? Or trust me? What about the rest of the inner circle? You're my two closest - I told you first to see your reaction before going to Jackson and the others because I'll need your help. If I can't convince the two of you, I'll never sway them."

Bates considered that, his expression troubled as he studied Geoffrey, realizing he was serious. "It would require doing things a bit differently. I mean, having a vampire in an organization dedicated to killing them? Seems counterintuitive, but…it's also kind of brilliant. Leeches know leeches best." He gave Geoffrey a sheepish look. "No offense."

Geoffrey frowned slightly, but nodded nonetheless. "If the inner circle won't accept me, accept changing the directives set out by Kendall Stone and Carl, then I'll step down, and I'll give Priwen to you, Bates."

Bates' eyes widened. "Me?" He smiled a little. "Flattered, Sir, but I'm your Second. I swore I'd follow you to the end. If that end changes, I'll still follow you. And you know Millar here thinks you're aces."

Millar flushed slightly as he gave Bates a sidelong look, but nodded. "I know what the rules say, but I still trust you, Sir. Even if you are a blood drinker."

Bates blinked. "About that. Uh…" A very awkward look passed across his face. "Forgive me for being indelicate, but what's to stop you from having one of us for dinner?"

A somewhat amused smirk curved Geoffrey's lips upward as he watched Bates dance around his question. "Nothing, I suppose," he said with a shrug.

"So, have you…you know, um…" Millar cleared his throat. "…Drank someone's blood?"

Geoffrey's smirk widened. "A body has to eat, yeah?" he said, and when Bates and Millar glanced at each other, he said, "It wasn't a human's. I've only ever had vampire blood. Reid's, and then skals. Oh, and one rat, out of curiosity."

"You can do that?"

"Looks like. I seem to prefer it to human." He shrugged. "I don't understand it, but it makes things easier. I don't have to worry about starving." A dark smile passed across his face.

Millar shivered slightly at the look, but narrowed his eyes in thought. "I…don't know if I should be relieved or insulted that I'm not appealing to you."

"Don't worry, Millar. If things ever become that dire, you'll do in a pinch."

"Vampire humour! That's not funny, Sir. It's morbid!" 

Geoffrey snorted softly. "You're the one who bloody asked in the first place." Sobering, Geoffrey said, "Find Jackson and the other sergeants. Let's get this over with."

"But it's day."

Geoffrey arched a brow. "Yeah. And?"

Millar glanced at Bates, and when the captain nodded, as if to assure him he'd be fine, he gave a slight downward tilt of his chin and went to do as he'd been asked.

Once they were alone, Bates asked, "Do you have a plan on what you're going to say?"

Geoffrey considered the question, and then shook his head. "In part, maybe. A lot of what I said to you and Millar. But it comes down to either they'll accept it or they won't. And if they won't, I'll go quietly. I won't have the Guard divided."

Bates nodded, and fell silent, staring thoughtfully at him for a moment. "Did it hurt?" he asked. "When he turned you?" Bates offered a small smile. "I've wondered about that part of it, never had anyone to ask before."

Geoffrey shook his head. "I don't remember much about it at all." He smirked. "I asked Reid the same thing. He said it was the same for him, too." His cheeks warmed as he thought about the brief flashes he would get of the kiss, and of Jonathan's eyes. He wanted to experience that again very badly, and after a moment, he cleared his throat. "I still say that she-beast that clawed me was the worst."

"That was gruesome," Bates agreed. "Thank God for Quinn. But that was the night I swore I'd follow you anywhere. This? It will be an adjustment, but I stand by my oath."

Further conversation was halted when Millar and the others returned. Not wasting a lot of time, Geoffrey told the other four what he knew of the skal infestation, and what had happened to him as a result. As Geoffrey had expected, Jackson and the other three were slower to come around than Millar and Bates had been when he told them. And in that moment, he was glad he had a couple of allies in his corner.

"We are Priwen," Jackson said. "We don't compromise or negotiate. Not with leeches."

Millar arched a brow. "That rule is shite and you know it. We _willingly_ broke it when we _invited_ Reid here and then let him take McCullum in the first place, didn't we? We compromise when it suits us."

"And look what that got us," Jackson said. "A vampire placed at the head of it all."

"As I told Bates, if you won't accept me, I'll go. But you'll give me twenty-four hours amnesty before you start to hunt me. I don't want to kill any of you, but I will if you try to stop me before that time's up. I'll continue my hunt on my own terms."

"Or I could just kill you now and be done with it," Jackson said as he peered over the rims of his glasses at him.

Geoffrey met the other's gaze. "You could." 

"Too bad I don't have a weapon with me."

"That so?" Geoffrey glanced at Bates. "Give him your revolver."

"What? Geoffrey, that's madness!"

"Just do it."

"I-" Bates clenched his jaw, but nodded as he unclasped the holster and offered the weapon to Jackson. "How can you do this?" he asked on a quiet murmur, seeming to forget that not half an hour ago, both he and Millar had their guns pointed at the brunet for the same reason. "We _all_ owe him, every one of us! If he hadn't trusted us and confessed, he'd still just be…Geoffrey. He's been like this for a couple of days now, and we've worked with him comfortably, Jackson. How can you hate him so easily?"

"I don't hate him," Jackson said. "I hate what he's become. Given what he's dealt with in his past, I'm shocked that he could so cavalierly accept the poisoned apple himself."

"You have no idea what I went through, or how I made my choice, Jackson," Geoffrey said as he glared at the other, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu as his mouth curved down into a frown. "It wasn't as easy as you think."

"Silence, leech. Your words won't earn you any sympathy." Jackson drew back the hammer and aimed the gun, eyes narrowing slightly as he sighted it. His jaw clenched as Geoffrey just stood there, staring back at him with that penetrating stare. Several tense moments passed, the other men waiting with baited breath, and finally, Jackson blinked, a scowl turning his lips downward. "Damn you, Geoffrey," he muttered as he carefully decocked the revolver and handed it back to Bates, who gave him an understanding look.

The other men relaxed marginally, and Millar leaned over to the other sergeants and murmured conspiratorially, "Me and Bates couldn't do it, either…"

"Even trying to see you as a damned vampire, I can't do it. Fine lot of soldiers we are." Jackson exhaled heavily through his nose. "Sod it; I don't care. What sorts of changes are you proposing?"

"I mentioned the skal hunt yesterday. Now that you know why, that's a good place to start. And I'm calling off the Great Hunt. Don't think that just because I’m a vampire it means I suddenly love them. I don't. I think they need to be watched, tracked, and if they step out of line, eliminated as soon as they become a threat. And I have my own list still." He pressed his lips into a thin line.

"We have never compromised our goals. We've always been committed to the Priwen way of doing things. That's why Kendall Stone left the Brotherhood." Jackson shifted his posture uncomfortably.

"True. But Kendall Stone wrote those directives over a century ago, and some of what he believed was wrong. Carl Eldritch believed it, and we were taught to believe it, never to question, because we are Priwen. We have to be willing to change our rules with the times, challenge things, or we'll get swallowed up by it. I know that some of our procedures are wrong. For example, Kendall Stone's work said that stakes had to be pure silver, or at least silver tipped because the metal burns the beast's blood when it touches it, slowing them down, making them more vulnerable." He shook his head. "It doesn't."

"Of course it does. They always scream bloody murder when we stake 'em!" Cox said with a wide grin.

Geoffrey arched a brow. "Let me put a stake through you and see if you don't scream," he said evenly, though when he saw the dubious looks, he nodded. "Fine. You want proof?" He looked around his office, and crossed over to the credenza, where a metal ammunition box sat. He opened it up and peered inside, and then shook out the remaining boxes of rounds onto the table and carried it back to his desk. He glanced at Bates. "Toss me that stake." He caught the stake in his right hand as he wordlessly set the ammo box down on its side. He adjusted the grip on the stake as he looked at the silver tip, poking the end of it with his fingertip to test the sharpness. The corners of his lips twitched upwards for a moment in a dark, humourless smirk, and then in one fast movement, he put his left hand on the ammunition box and drove the stake through the back of his hand.

"Jesus Christ!" Jackson shouted, eyes wide.

"Bloody hell!" Bates exclaimed, as he visibly started. "What on earth is the matter with you, Geoffrey?" he demanded.

Geoffrey's upper lip twitched in a pained grimace, his fangs prominent as he bore the pain of the injury. "Hurts like a bastard," he managed through gritted teeth. "But does it look like it's fucking burning me?" He took a breath, and with a low snarl, he twisted the stake free and set it on his desktop, then held up his hand, the wound already starting to heal. "There's your proof," he snapped, and though he gave Millar a withering look, he willingly took the handkerchief the sergeant hesitantly offered him and wrapped it around his hand and then licked the fingers of his right. "I spoke to Usher Talltree tonight." He arched a brow when an uneasiness fell over the group.

"The fortune teller?" Millar asked incredulously.

"You weren't taken in by that carnival bullshit with the cards, were you?" Foster added. "I think he does it just to look creepy as hell."

"Are you suggesting we rejoin the Brotherhood?" Jackson asked, a disgusted look on his face.

"Christ, no!" Geoffrey replied hotly. "Do I look like I want to spend hours pouring over dusty old books and documenting the findings? The Guard of Priwen will always be that: guardians. Defenders of this land, hunting leeches and putting an end to their evil. And the Brotherhood, well, they can hide in their libraries until the end of time for all I care." He frowned. "When Kendall Stone left, everything was divided up. The artefacts, the books, everything. The Brotherhood, they read through all that shit, figure out what's true and what's not and write their own books about it." He shrugged. "It's what they like to do; power to them, it saves me having to do it."

"What's your point, McCullum?" Hughes asked, a confused frown creasing his brow.

"My point is, even some of their information is wrong, so why not let them see some of our books that we keep in the vault? We collaborate with them, but only so far as sharing our resources. We keep doing what we do, and they can do whatever the hell it is they do, talking bullshit and writing manuscripts." Geoffrey smirked. "In the end, we wind up with the same information they have, and they're the ones who'll do most of the work."

"You would trust them not to give us false information?" Jackson asked.

Geoffrey considered that. "The Brotherhood as a whole? Not on my life. But so long as Talltree is the Primate, I could work with him. In a limited capacity." He looked at the six men. "You know what I am, and what my plans are. Will you accept me? Or do we part ways?"

"What do we tell them about you?" Jackson asked. "Or do we?"

"A lot of the Guard, they're new, come to us because of this epidemic. They'll adapt, but I need your help to see the changes through. All of you. And we keep what I am between us for now. I know it'll come out in time; some asshole vampire will start beaking off about it, someone'll be brave enough - or stupid enough - to come after me to see if it's true. But I'll tell you this, having a bloody vampire leading you isn't going to destroy Priwen."

"Do you think we can keep a secret that big from the populace?"

Geoffrey smirked. "It won't be the first time Priwen's kept secrets. Big ones." Sobering, he said, "Talltree loaned me a book, you can read it if you like. That's where I learned the bit about silver. But it also spoke about historical figures that were vampires. It turns out King Arthur, the true defender of England, was a leech." Geoffrey frowned when the six started talking at once, expressing various states of disbelief, anger, and shock over that news. Finally, when the cacophony got to be too much, Geoffrey's last shred of patience snapped, and he snarled, "Shut it!" When the room went silent, he looked around at the six of them. "I didn't want to believe it, either," he said. "I reacted the same way you did, thought these bastards just made it up. But it's true. I know it for a fact."

"How can that be? You've taken Arthur's blood before. Why didn't that turn you?"

"I don't know for sure. Maybe because it didn't come from him direct? Or it's too old?" Jonathan would have been able to better answer that question, and one day, he'd ask him why. "But when I read that, I went and…tasted it." Geoffrey cleared his throat. "Trust me. He was."

A somewhat discomfited grimace passed across Jackson's face, his gaze lingering for a moment on Geoffrey's mouth and the keen teeth. "Don't know that I'll get used to hearing things like that, but until you give me a reason not to, I'll follow you, Geoffrey."

"Aye. So long as I can still kill _something_ , I'm in," Cox said, Foster and Hughes seconding his comment.

"You already know about Millar and me," Bates said. "So, I suppose that settles it, then."

Geoffrey nodded. "All right. Then my first new directive to you is this: I don't care what you think about me, I don't care if it's bloody hard, if I step out of line, you end me, like you would any other leech. Figure it out." He paused as he studied them. "Now, if you don't mind, get the hell out; it's already midday." Once they'd left, he went through the adjoining door to his room and fell into his bed, exhausted. It felt like he'd just closed his eyes when he was awoken by the sound of urgent knocking at his door. "What?" he snapped irritably as he sat up, and when Millar came in, he bared his fangs at him in a half-hearted sneer. Pushing himself out of bed, he felt himself starting to wake up fully, and with that came his hunger. He gave Millar a predatory look as he crossed the room to wash his face and tame down his hair at his wash table. "Speak up, Millar," he said, his voice sounding slightly growly.

Millar watched Geoffrey in silence for a few moments, the look the brunet gave him sending a thrill of fear down his spine as much as it made his heart beat a little faster in his chest. Power and arrogance had always suited the brunet, and Millar had always had a bit of 'hero eyes' for Geoffrey. But now, as a vampire, as much as he knew he shouldn't think it, he thought it made him even more attractive. He saw Geoffrey glance at him, and he quickly forced the thoughts away; he'd be mortified if the other ever called him on it! "Um, there's a scout in your office, Sir," he said, getting to the matter at hand. "He filed his report this morning, but we didn't want to disturb you before now, because…well, uh…it being day and all…" He rubbed the edge of his index finger under his nose and cleared his throat. "Anyway, we thought you'd want to hear this one."

Geoffrey arched a brow as he turned to face Millar. "I'll be right there," he said, and as Millar stepped out into the corridor to go around to his office, he picked up his boots and went through the adjoining door, nodding to the nervous looking scout as he sat at his desk and began putting his boots on.

"Sir, this is O'Neill. Go on, lad. Tell him."

O'Neill nodded to Millar, his hands nervously twisting the tweed newsboy cap he carried. "Well, Sir," he began. "Me and the rest of the squad, we was patrolling last night, Whitechapel mostly, but we popped into the West End for a bit. We stopped to watch when this really posh car rolled up outside this fancy club - not something you see every day, innit? We speculated on which of the toffs might be stepping out, and we were surprised when we saw two blokes take that leech doctor inside."

Geoffrey frowned. "Why would I care if he's going into a club? Doctors socialize." He was aware from scouting reports that Jonathan had been recruited by Ascalon. He'd even killed one of its members the night he'd been tracking Jonathan to the theatre and the bastard had gotten in his way, trying to stop him from following the raven.

"No, Sir," O'Neill said. "It's not like he was off to attend some fancy do. They took him inside, Sir. Like, _carried him_. Not moving and such." He licked his lower lip nervously. "I just thought you'd want to know, Sir, since he's on your personal list."

Geoffrey's expression was stony, his eyes narrowed as he processed that. "I see. You can go back to your squad now."

O'Neill stood, and gave Geoffrey a slight downward tilt of his chin. "Just didn't want you to think it was us what done him a mischief."

"I don't think that, O'Neill." As soon as the boy had left, Geoffrey loosed a subvocal growl and went for his sword belt. He quickly fastened it around his waist, and then took his revolver from the top drawer of his desk and put it in the holster, throwing his trench coat on over top. He knew exactly who had taken Jonathan, and where he was. He just didn't know _why_.

"Sir? What are you doing?" Millar asked hesitantly as he watched Geoffrey prepare himself, and he handed the man the small quiver of bolts after he'd strapped the wrist crossbow to his forearm.

"I'm going to Ascalon," Geoffrey said coldly, his eyes narrowed to hard slits. "I need to have a little chat with Lord Redgrave."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NEW:** I was shown a very dark and delicious piece of fanart, done by A Sinner. (Don't even get me started on how brilliant I find the username! **lick**) Inspired by some of the trials and tribulations our Jonathan is going through, you can check it out [here](https://hostr.co/file/970/8sBJkiqpwRHq/jonnyhands.jpg).
> 
>  **NEW:** I love it very much, dear heart, and I hope that those of you who go check it out, share the love with others. Since I originally posted it, the artist has created a Fanart Tribute here on the archive. The link is at the end of the story, but you can also go directly there from [here](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/36259533). So go forth and spread the love - but you might want to read the chapter first, lest you semi-spoiler yourself... and to A Sinner - I hope your dark Muse continues to run strong... ♥♥ 
> 
> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Added a teeny bit of info at the very end of the chapter, fleshing out Geoffrey's knowledge of the Ascalon club, and Jonathan's involvement with them. Insignificant to the flow of the story, but it shows that he's not completely ignorant of how they work, or what's been going on. Beyond that, just fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> Since this _shouldn't_ be a spoiler (presuming you've read the previous chapters!), for anyone interested in the book Usher gave Geoffrey, I expanded on the in-game collectible 'Origins of the Brotherhood'. The book in question was called  Whispers From Our Past, penned by Usher, and reading the info about it, he mentions "…some vampires are able to transcend their predatory nature to protect mortals. Great mythological or historical figures, which we know were vampires, proved that enlightened immortals might agree to protect and guide mankind through difficult ages." I'm making the assumption that the other 'Champions' are mentioned there - that being William Marshall and King Arthur.
> 
> I've also drawn on lore from _Vampire: The Masquerade_ in how I handled vampires and their exposure to alcohol/drugs/poisons. That being as follows: "It's important to note as well that blood 'infused' with the qualities of substances like alcohol or hard drugs retains that quality until used. And blood is used in a last-in-last-out format. So getting drunk by feeding off of a drunk human would leave the kindred in that state...until they'd burned through that blood supply." I'm also going with said substances must be taken from blood. It won't work if they pop a bunch of pills or down a fifth of Jack Daniels. ¬_¬ 
> 
> You were curious, so this chapter will explore what Jonathan's been up to, and how he came to be in the predicament he's in. I hope you like it. Again, apologies to anyone who adores the Ascalon Club. I have this habit of making people you'll love to hate. ~_^ We have more in-game developments but spun slightly to suit my purposes...the product of an evil mind, perhaps? **grin**
> 
> You have all been so incredibly supportive as we continue our little adventure. I'm super stoked that you're liking the direction I'm taking this, and as always, I appreciate all the love you've given. ♥♥ I do read everything you say, and even if I'm a bit slow, I do respond to all of them. Thank you my lovelies. **vampire kisses** ^_^

Jonathan closed his eyes for a moment as he crouched in the narrow space between two dormers, leaning heavily against the brick chimney behind him. Getting out of the courtyard had been easy enough once he'd gotten to the bridge, but he hadn't expected to have to run as hard as he had. The patrol had given chase for a while, and just when he'd thought he'd lost them, he'd run into another. And then a third. He'd finally evaded them by ducking into an abandoned house and then hiding up on the roof of the building next door. _War dogs_ was an apt term for the Guard - once they caught a scent, they were relentless in their pursuit. Even now, he could hear them down below, the squad leader giving orders to check the doors in the area, and to fan out and perform a systematic search. He just hoped the darkness afforded him enough cover to where if they did happen to look up, they wouldn't see him watching them from the shadows.

He licked his lips to moisten them, and then grimaced as he turned his attention to the burning pain in his shoulder. When he'd run into the second squad, one of the guards had caught him with a quick shot from his pistol before he could retreat, the incendiary round lodging against his collarbone, right by the joint. He saw the red stain blossoming on his jacket, and he pressed his lips into a thin line as he felt for the round, his fingers slipping in the blood as he tried to twist it free. With a soft growl borne of discomfort, he dropped his hand. He'd have to wait until he got back to the hospital and could get a set of forceps. He knew that until he removed the bullet, he had no hope of it healing. And until the guard gave up and went somewhere else, he wasn't going anywhere fast.

Letting his head fall back against the brick, he let his mind wander, hoping he could distract himself from the insistent throbbing in his arm. His thoughts almost immediately ran to Geoffrey. He didn't want to think about Geoffrey, but he couldn't _stop_ from thinking about him. And that made his heart ache. He couldn't forget the offer of Geoffrey's blood, and how he'd hungrily taken it from the brunet, how he'd felt so _complete_ then - and how he'd only become greedier for him. And then there had been the kiss. Jonathan had _felt_ the emotion in Geoffrey's kiss - lust and want…and then fear. It had rolled off of him in waves. He'd felt Geoffrey's control start to slip, had heard his thoughts utter a single word: _Ian_. And then Geoffrey had called for the Guard.

_Leech! There's a leech in the courtyard!_

Jonathan had understood Geoffrey's reaction. It had been the _fight or flight_ response. Jonathan had no doubt that when it came to physical aggression, Geoffrey was one to stand his ground and attack. But, he was less capable when it came to his emotions - save for anger - and his instinct was to run. But, just because he understood Geoffrey's motivations, and _knew_ he was lying when he said he didn't care, it didn't make his words or actions sting any less. Once again, when faced with his own insecurities and vulnerabilities, Geoffrey had pushed him away. And in this case, Jonathan had been given no choice but to let him go - unless he wanted to take on the entire Guard of Priwen. He'd heard Geoffrey's voice in his mind, telling him to run, to not get caught. Geoffrey could swear he felt nothing towards him, but from the worry he'd sensed in him, Jonathan knew better. Still, he had no doubt that the brunet, with as volatile as he was at present, would have had no qualms about putting as many soldiers between them as he possibly could. He sighed softly; he knew part of Geoffrey's issue was one of trust, but he believed there was more to it than just that. He just wished he knew what - though he suspected that Ian, whoever he was, played a role. It would be easy enough for him to find out, but he would not probe. One day, he would ask. For now, Jonathan would give Geoffrey some space and time to think, but he wasn't about to let the issue lie completely. If he'd not heard from him in a few days, he would find some way to seek him out and get him to talk. Even if it was just inane conversation for conversation's sake.

When he realized he no longer heard shouting, he glanced over the side of the roof, eyes scanning the area for any signs of life. Finding none, he silently dropped to the ground and made his way back to Pembroke. Back in his room, he'd carefully shrugged out of his shirt and jacket, mentally thinking that he should be sending a bill to Priwen Headquarters for his tailoring. Finding a set of forceps, he'd clamped them over the round and gritted his teeth as he'd twisted it free from the tangle of bone and muscle. A low growl of pain rumbled deep in his throat as he worked the bullet free, eventually ending in a sigh of relief as it came away. He'd torn the tissue fairly significantly in the process, but he could begin to heal. He draped a piece of gauze over the still seeping wound as he'd gone to lay down, knowing that by the time he woke, it would be better. 

It was too bad his heart wasn't so easily mended. His sleep was fitful, his dreams filled with thoughts of Geoffrey. He felt a dull ache whenever he thought about the brunet's words to him, spoken so coldly, as if hoping to drive him off. But Jonathan could be just as stubborn as Geoffrey, and he knew it would take more than a few callous words to make him walk away. Jonathan had seen beneath the bravado and the bullshit, and he liked the man he'd discovered. _Why can't you see that I only want to help you?_ he mused. _That I care about you? Just want…you?_ He stilled some when he thought about the day he'd spent with Geoffrey in the outpost. The conversations they'd had, the taste of his blood, the kiss they'd shared as he'd turned him. It was only with those more pleasant memories that he'd been able to finally get some rest.

The following night, he'd woken up a bit stiff and sore, but none the worse for wear. His heart still was heavy, though he'd dressed and gone to do his rounds. After checking in with the head nurse and the other doctors, he found himself in Geoffrey's room - or what had been his room. The duty nurses had, as expected, already stripped the linens and tidied up the space for the next patient who might need it, and they'd packed up his experimental apparatus, moving it to one of the storage rooms for him to go through at his leisure. Wandering in that direction, he opened the lid, and peered inside. Carefully, Jonathan packaged up the microscope slides and set them on the notebook of data he'd been collecting, and then he'd looked at the blood samples. His eyes narrowed slightly in contemplation, and then, mind made up, he took the bottles and vials down to the basement incinerator and personally threw the whole box in the furnace to ensure their destruction. He'd seen too many bad things happen with vampire blood, and while Geoffrey's samples were still human, they did contain the skal virus. He then picked up the slides and notebook, and headed to Edgar's office. Edgar was not in, and Jonathan frowned slightly. He had no idea where the man was; he certainly hadn't been on the floor doing rounds. Not wanting to wait around for his return, he'd put the items on the chair next to his door, and had carried on with his night. He'd just completed checking on his patients and was heading back to his room when he met Edgar coming down the stairs as he was heading up. He offered a slight downward tilt of his chin when the older man greeted him, and then changed direction and fell into step with him. "Good evening, Edgar," he said, and he gave him a curious look, noting the slight flush to his cheeks and the slight brightness to his eyes. He'd fed recently. He knew the look.

"Good evening, Jonathan," Edgar greeted cheerfully. "I saw the gift you left for me outside my office. I thank you for that; the data we collected will be invaluable to me in my research." He paused. "Just one thing. I didn't see the blood samples with the rest." He chuckled softly as Jonathan unlocked the door to his office. "Honestly, I haven't felt this impassioned since my days as a young doctor, and I spent two summers in France. Louis Pasteur was working on his rabies vaccine, and I took an interest in his research. That was fascinating work, and I am anxious to see what new and exciting discoveries I can make. Perhaps one day, I'll even be recognized for my contributions to the medical community!"

"Mm," Jonathan murmured noncommittally in response to Edgar's thanks, though he did glance sidelong at him. "I destroyed the blood samples. I incinerated them," he said as he opened his door, though he didn't enter. To do so would mean asking Edgar inside to continue the conversation - and Jonathan had no plans to do that. Of course, Edgar had been in his office on a few occasions, but ever since he'd spoken to him that first night after he'd turned him, he just felt uncomfortable having him in his personal space. He watched the other as they further talked in the corridor. He found it somewhat disturbing how quickly Edgar had distanced himself from humanity as a whole, and he found his general lack of compassion troublesome. It wouldn't be long before Edgar started seeing mortals as _things_ and not _people_ , and then the monster within would have full control.

He wondered how much of the man he'd known had already been lost to the beast as he listened to Edgar speak about Geoffrey's fate, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Not wanting to share with Edgar what he had done, exactly, he told him _a_ version of the truth: he _had_ watched Geoffrey die, and he _had_ made sure he wouldn't come back as a skal. Jonathan figured it was up to Edgar to ask for clarification if he was interested; whatever assumptions he made based on what he'd been told, that was on him. His lips pressed into a thin line when Edgar almost giddily suggested that documenting the transformation would have been a fascinating study. "I don't think that's the sort of research I would be interested in," he said, and he hoped like hell the other wouldn't get it in his head to purposely infect someone and keep them in the hospital so he could do just that.

"Well, I wouldn't _actively pursue it_ , of course," Edgar backpedalled, and offered an ingratiating smile. "I was just saying, _hypothetically_ it would be fascinating to witness, should the opportunity ever present. Much like it would be to observe the actual workings of internal organs in a patient with severe thoracic trauma."

Jonathan stared at Edgar in horror. "That would be macabre science." He turned his attention to the balcony. Something out there kept distracting him, making it difficult to focus on the conversation. Edgar seemed oblivious, and kept talking about different studies, each one more extreme than the last, that could be performed - purely out of personal interest if he had no limitations imposed on him. "Well then, thank God we, as doctors, are bound by a code of ethics and our own personal morality, hm?"

"Come now, Jonathan! You can't tell me that you're not even a little bit curious?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Without limits, the line blurs between experimentation and torture. There are some things in this world we are probably better off not knowing."

"Ah, then that is where we differ, my friend! As a man purely governed by science, I believe that no question should be left unasked. Knowledge is the path to enlightenment, dear boy!'

"You are a veritable Illuminati, Edgar," Jonathan said dryly.

"Oh, you're flattering me now," Edgar said with a smile. "I always knew I liked you!" he said with a chuckle. "I know I don't say it enough, but I am so glad I found you down by the docks that night! You have no idea how lucky I feel."

"Now who's flattering whom?" Jonathan replied, and he forced a smile. Again, he found himself regretting his decision to spare Edgar's life and wondered if there would come a day when he'd be forced to take it.

Edgar laid a hand on Jonathan's forearm. "I just miss our conversations. Now that your time isn't completely consumed by your…erm, 'patient', perhaps you'll join me later tonight and we can catch up?" He smiled winsomely up at Jonathan, his hand lightly caressing the fabric of his suit jacket. "I have an appointment shortly that I simply must keep; in fact, I should get going or I'll wind up late. But any time after midnight I am free."

Jonathan's smile tightened, and he managed to keep from tensing under the overly-friendly touch. "Perhaps," he answered, being deliberately vague. He arched a brow when he heard Edgar was leaving for an appointment. He knew that as a member of the Brotherhood, he did have business to attend to, and Jonathan figured he was meeting someone. He didn't bother asking, figuring the other wouldn't be forthcoming with information anyway. He did resent that part of their 'friendship'. He'd always shared the things he'd learned over the course of his investigation with Edgar, the other offering him very little in return. He felt a sudden, sharp spike of anger, and he started slightly from the shock of it. A moment later, there was a distinct dull _thwack_ just outside his balcony, and his brow furrowed in confusion, it deepening slightly when Edgar didn't seem to notice - or maybe he simply didn't care. With a polite smile, he dislodged his arm from Edgar's grasp. "Well then, I won't keep you. I'd hate for you to be tardy because of me. Good evening, Edgar," he said in an abrupt farewell as he cut the conversation short and stepped into his office, closing the door behind him. Cautiously, he made his way to his balcony, and it didn't take him long to find the crossbow bolt lodged into the door jamb. Grasping it, he twisted it free and looked at it for a moment. A small smile curved his lips upward. _Geoffrey._ He turned to face the night, first leaning over the railing to see if he could see the brunet down by the fence, and then slowly scanning the area for a sign of him. Eventually, he was able to sense his presence on the far side of the river. He couldn't see him, but he _knew_ he was there. Another small smile crested. Jonathan did not believe for a moment that he had any superior skill in knowing when Geoffrey was nearby, even if he was his Maker. Rather, he knew because Geoffrey, whether consciously or not, had wanted him to.

The smile fell when he realized that Geoffrey was aware that he'd seen him, but remained cloaked in the shadows. _Please stop running,_ he thought. "Just come back," he whispered to the darkness, and for a moment, Jonathan held out hope that Geoffrey would do just that. But, after a few more seconds, he couldn't feel the other's presence anymore. He closed his eyes dejectedly, gripping tightly to the bolt, and then he went back inside. Setting it down, he slipped on his overcoat, intending to follow Geoffrey and see if he couldn't get him to talk. _Make_ him talk. Unfortunately, the streets had been crawling with Priwen patrols, and unable to move freely _anywhere_ without feeling cornered, he'd eventually given up on his own chase. Instead, he returned to his investigation, knowing he still had an epidemic to deal with. He turned his attention to the various notes and documents he'd amassed over the past while and started reading, feeling somewhat dejected, but resolute. When he finally went to sleep that morning, he'd learned a few things, and he had a direction to go in putting an end to things - it was the execution part that troubled him. But, at least he was making forward progress.

When he woke that night, he knew that he needed to find Geoffrey and speak to him. The two of them needed to address everything that was going on between them, and Jonathan was curious as to how he was adapting to his new life as an immortal, but on a bigger scale, he also needed the brunet's help. He wasn't entirely sure how Geoffrey would react when he asked him about King Arthur's blood, whether he'd believe him when he told him why, or if he'd even be willing to give him some, but he would try. The more difficult part would be acquiring some of William Marshall's blood from Lord Redgrave. He'd been branded a traitor by Ascalon, and since His Lordship never left the club, being granted an audience with the man would prove challenging. He smirked wryly to himself. No one had ever said that _being a champion_ was an easy endeavour - though he still loathed his Maker for thrusting him into that role.

Wanting to carry on with his other affairs in a timely manner, he began his rounds. He had nearly completed them when the duty nurse approached, and told him that Doctor Swansea had asked for a moment of his time. He finished checking on the last of his patients, and then headed up the central staircase, knocking on Edgar's door a moment later. He'd been truly surprised when he'd learned that the man wished for him to make a house call. It wasn't that the request was all that unusual for a doctor, especially with the general paranoia people had about being out in public. It was more that _Edgar_ was the one making it; as of late, he'd taken minimal interest in the day-to-day workings at Pembroke, preferring instead to leave the lion's share of the administrative work to Doctor Ackroyd. "What's the complaint, so I know what to bring with me?" Jonathan asked.

"Influenza," Edgar replied as he handed over a card with an address in the Docklands written on it. "A young boy, maybe ten years old, completely bed-ridden. He's been fevered for three days, but when he began coughing up blood…well, sometimes people are willing to forego their mistrust of doctors when the situation becomes dire."

Jonathan pressed his lips into a thin line. It had been difficult to see all the people suffering at the hands of the epidemic, but hearing it was a child, knowing that a young body was even less capable of fighting the infection, felt worse. "After three days of fever, I am not confident that there is much I can do for him. But I will, at the very least, make him comfortable." He just hoped that the boy hadn't contracted the skal virus along with the 'flu. "I'll leave immediately."

"Thank you, Jonathan. You're the only one I trust with this call - not that the others aren't capable, but you have the best understanding of what we're dealing with. Besides, given the situation out there, I know you can handle yourself."

Jonathan arched a brow, and then he looked down at the card. No name. Just an address. He glanced up to study the other man for a few moments, eyes narrowed assessingly. Unable to discern anything out of the ordinary, he slipped the card into his jacket pocket before wordlessly turning on his heel and heading to his room for his overcoat and some supplies. It wasn't long before he was heading south, away from the hospital, and the whole time during his walk over, he found himself feeling anxious and unnaturally on guard. Something didn't feel right, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. He'd sensed no deception from Edgar, and he immediately chastised himself for having such thoughts. Edgar had certainly turned his back on his humanity, but he'd always been considerate of Jonathan and had been genuine in his desire for friendship - even if Jonathan felt a bit uncomfortable about it.

His pace slowed as he approached the address on the card, and his eyes scanned the area, searching for _anything_ that seemed out of place. Finding nothing, he approached the door and knocked, still feeling wary about the whole scenario - at least, until a woman opened the door and gave him a curious look. "Good evening, Miss. My name is Doctor Jonathan Reid. I'm from the Pembroke Hospital. I understand you have a son who is ill. I'm here to see what I can do for him."

She continued to study him for a moment, as if confused, and then it seemed as if his words had registered. She gave him a shallow curtsey. "Thank you for coming, Doctor Reid," she said. "Please come in." Once she'd admitted him, she closed the door behind him and bolted it once more. "Henry has the 'flu. I'm worried for him. He's been sick for a week," she told him.

Jonathan nodded, and he gave her a curious look. The woman looked exhausted, though that was not surprising if she'd been tending to her son on her own for the past week. He knew full well how tiring of a job that could be! "Are you all right, Miss?" he asked. "You seem…worn down."

"Yes, Doctor Reid. I'm fine. It's just Henry. I've been worried for him. He's been sick for a week." She nodded towards the staircase. "His bedroom is upstairs."

Jonathan arched a brow when she almost repeated herself verbatim, and he gave her a warm smile of understanding. "I will do what I can. Though I'd like to examine you, as well, when I've finished with Henry just to make sure you have no signs of the 'flu either. At the very least, I can give you something to help with the fatigue; it's important to keep your strength up, too." He began climbing the steps, and he heard her following behind him. He was just reaching for the doorknob when he felt a sharp pinch in his neck, and he gave a surprised jolt. Turning, he saw her step back from him, eyes wide and blank as she held an empty syringe in her hand. "What did you-" He never finished the sentence as he was suddenly overcome with the most intense burning sensation through his entire body. He felt like he was on fire from the inside, and overcome by the pain, he wrapped his arms around himself and went down on one knee, trying to make it lessen.

The door in front of him opened, and two Ekon stepped out. Through the pained haze, Jonathan recognized the one as Lord Finney from the Ascalon Club. The other, he didn't know, but he'd seen him before and assumed he was also a member. "Tough break, Newborn," Finney said as he gave Jonathan a shove with the sole of his foot, causing him to stumble backwards and cry out in pain. "Essence of garlic can be particularly nasty to our kind. I've heard some describe it as having the very fires of hell itself burning through your veins." He smirked. "It won't kill you, but it'll keep you still for a few minutes, at least." He nodded to the other vampire, who went downstairs and unlocked the door, letting a third man in.

"What do you want from me?" Jonathan managed through gritted teeth as he tried to stand, but found himself unable to. He wondered how he'd not seen them in the house, and surmised they must have been watching and waiting from outside on the roof, slipping inside once he'd been incapacitated.

Finney's smirk widened. "Nothing at all, traitor. If it were up to me, I'd want your head. Removed slowly and painfully from your body. But Lord Redgrave has other plans for you and wants a word." He stood behind the woman and put his arms around her body, resting his hands on her abdomen and his head on her shoulder as he leered at Jonathan. "Mortals are so easy to bend to your will if you offer them the smallest shred of hope. Dear Grace here was in mourning. Henry died a week ago, and when I ran into her last night, offered her a few kind words and a sympathetic ear, she was only too eager to tell her story to the concerned gentleman. And then, it was a simple matter of breaking her mind and convincing her that Henry was still alive, and you were coming to treat him." He turned his head and gave her a mocking kiss on the cheek. "You did splendidly, Grace," he murmured as he petted a hand through her shoulder-length wavy tresses, and then chuckled darkly. "Oh, but I did promise you that things would get better, didn't I? And I am a man of my word." He pulled a bottle from the pocket of his jacket, and then gently prised the syringe from her hand. Whistling softly under his breath, he drew up a full aliquot and injected it into her throat. "Soon, you'll see your beloved Henry. It's what you wanted most, wasn't it? To hear his sweet laugh again?"

In the meantime, the other two Ekon had made their way up to the second floor, and stood behind Jonathan, one with the tip of his rapier pressed insistently between the raven's shoulder blades, should he decide to move. "What did you give her?" Jonathan asked through laboured breaths as he managed to at least raise his head, and when he tried to stand, he felt one of the other men put his foot on the back of his knee to keep him down.

"You're the doctor. Once the show begins, you tell me." They didn't have long to wait. Within five minutes, Grace began to convulse violently, every muscle in her body seeming to contract at once, hands clasped into rigid fists, toes curling within the confines of her slippers. Gasping for breath through clenched teeth, her eyes were wide and unblinking, and her back arched painfully, as if she might snap in two. As more and more time passed, her muscles contracted tighter and tighter, and within two minutes, she was gone, her body contorted into a deep bow shape, the agony she'd felt obvious from the macabre grimace on her lips. "Well! That was more ghastly than I'd imagined!" Finney said with a chuckle. "Definitely dramatic. Perhaps I gave her too high a dose?" he suggested to his colleagues, and he let her body drop carelessly to the floor, the effects of rigor mortis already setting in. Crouching down, he pulled a syringe of her blood, and made his way over to Jonathan. "Ah well, deed done nonetheless. So, tell me. What killed our lady friend, Doctor?" he asked.

Despite the searing pain in his body, Jonathan's blood ran cold as he watched Grace suffer the terrible convulsions and the drawn out, agonizing death that followed. "For God's sake, have some mercy!" he begged as he listened to her struggle for breath. "At least slit her throat and end it rather than make her suffer!" He looked away, and when he could no longer hear her wheezed gasps or hear her heart beating, he looked up at Finney, his expression dark. "Strychnine. You are a bastard," he said coldly.

"Hm. You _are_ good, Doctor Reid," Finney said.

"Was it really necessary to kill her? You could just as easily have wiped the memory from her mind!" Jonathan said.

"Ah, I could have," Finney agreed. "But sometimes pawns need to be sacrificed to allow another piece to be captured. So her death really _was_ necessary, you see. Otherwise, where else would I have gotten poisoned blood for you?" he asked. With a nod to his two compatriots, the one pressed harder with the rapier while the other grabbed Jonathan's chin and jerked his head to the side, exposing his neck so Finney could inject Grace's contaminated blood into Jonathan. Suddenly he laughed, as if struck by a thought as he looked at the tip of the syringe. "Oh, I suppose I could have just poisoned a rat and used that. Might have been easier. Live and learn." He thought about that for a moment, and then laughed. "But then, so many humans scurry around like vermin anyway..." Still chuckling, he watched as Jonathan felt the initial euphoric swoon from the human blood, and then saw his body tense, the addition of the strychnine on top of the garlic adding a new layer of pain. "I'm sure you know that while we're immune to their filthy diseases, we're still susceptible to the effects of various narcotics in a human's bloodstream, although not as strongly. It is _so_ entertaining at our social functions to see an Ekon overindulge on the blood of the intoxicated and watch him embarrass himself." He sighed fondly as he silently relived the memory, and then turned his focus back to Jonathan. "Again, this won't kill you, but it will incapacitate you, and it should be fairly amusing to see you suffer some of the same effects for a time." A slow, sadistic smile curved his lips upward as he watched Jonathan's whole body tense and heard him groan in pain as his limbs tightened and contorted slightly. After a few more minutes, he'd suffered complete body paralysis, and when the raven was completely exhausted from the stress and the pain and seemed to have fallen into a dazed torpor, he glanced at the two other men with him. "Get him in the car."

For the next twenty minutes, Jonathan drifted in and out of full awareness. He remembered being in the car, his entire body aching as his frozen limbs had been forced into a sitting position. He was sandwiched between two men, and all he could smell was leather and damp wool. The next thing he could recall was moving along a corridor bedecked with marble colonnades and oak panelling, though he wasn't walking. He felt like he was floating, and every time he was jostled, he felt a sharp spike of pain in his joints. Finally, as the haze in his mind started to clear, he realized two things about his current location: it was cold, and it was quiet. He cracked his eyes open, groaning softly as he realized the world was spinning violently and he had a massive headache. Though, after a few breaths, he was able to focus somewhat, and he squinted against the light, needing a moment to adjust. Looking around, he could see that he was in a well-appointed wine cellar. He was seated on an uncomfortable wooden chair, stripped down to his vest and shirtsleeves, the cuffs rolled to mid-forearm. He raised a hand to massage his temple, only to pause when he heard the _chink_ of metal, realizing after a moment that he wore a set of heavy iron shackles on his wrists. He tried to say _What the hell?_ , but it came out more as an incoherent grunt, his jaw unwilling to move at present. His brow furrowed in thought as he tried to recollect how he'd come to be there. Wherever 'there' was. _A house call. It had been a house call…_

From behind Jonathan came an impatient exhale. "How much did you use, Finney?" Lord Redgrave asked as he watched the raven struggle to shake off the effects of the poison.

"A syringe full for her, and then the same for him, Sir."

"What?" Lord Redgrave pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "You gave her five times the lethal dose!"

Finney blinked in surprise. "Well, I'm not a doctor, am I?" he countered, and then looked at the other two men that had come in with him. "Explains why she died so fast, eh?" he added with a snicker.

Lord Redgrave rounded on Finney. "Bleed him and feed him," he snapped. "I don't have the time or the inclination to wait for the effects to subside."

Finney gave him a curious look. "Feed him? Feed him what?"

Lord Redgrave snarled angrily and grabbed Finney's wrist to viciously bite the flesh. "That should do, I think!" Roughly shoving the limb away from him, he reached for his handkerchief and wiped irritably at his mouth. "Use your imagination, Finney. But see that he's fit. Reasonably." He then turned to the other two men. "Hutchinson, there's an envelope on my desk. I'd like you to deliver it to Pembroke Hospital. Doctor Swansea did as I asked, and he has earned his recompense - and my gratitude. Please see that he gets both. Take Hamersley with you." Turning to Finney, he said, "I will return in ten minutes. I'd suggest you manage your time appropriately or I will be _displeased_."

Jonathan raised his head when he heard that, trying to process the information. It was getting a little easier to think. He was starting to remember parts of his night. _Ascalon? What happened? I went to the Docklands for a house call. For a boy. Because I was told-_ Jonathan cut himself off and closed his eyes in disappointment as he sighed softly. _Oh, Edgar…what did they tell you? What did they promise you?_ The betrayal he felt ran deep, but it was short-lived, however, when he felt the drag of a knife across his forearm. He managed to turn his gaze downward so he could watch his blood pour out onto the floor, and ironically, the more of it he lost, the better he felt. More exhausted, but at least he was regaining control of his limbs. After a few minutes, Finney bent and licked his wrist, and Jonathan visibly recoiled from the touch. He tried to pull his arm away, though the other vampire had an iron grip on him, and he couldn't move much. It didn't help that the shackles were attached to a heavy chain that ran up through a thick iron ring in the ceiling, which in turn was secured to a hand winch on the wall. That set up didn't afford him much room to move, either.

Finney grinned as he stood. "Hell of a jolt," he remarked. "Perhaps I'm just better at tolerating poison than you," he said as he grabbed a wooden bucket from a stand and poured the water over the floor, rinsing the majority of Jonathan's blood towards a central drain.

"In small doses, strychnine has other…therapeutic properties," Jonathan said quietly as he cleared his throat. Many used low doses as a stimulant, and in even smaller doses, it had been discovered to be an aphrodisiac. That knowledge brought him little comfort and he tried to focus on his present predicament. With less of the drug remaining in his system, he didn't want to think about how sensitive he'd suddenly become to his surroundings, or how acute his senses felt. How the insistent rub of iron against his flesh caused his heartrate to quicken and his pulse to beat loudly in his ears.

"Lucky me. I'm sure I'll be back for another taste later." Finney looked around the space, head cocked to the side as he listened, and then he quickly reached behind an empty wine barrel, standing up with a rat in his hands. "Disgusting," he remarked. "I'll have to scold the help later. But for now, this will do for you, traitor," he added as he slit its throat and let its blood run into a wine glass that sat on a polished silver tray. Fingers lightly grasping the base, he held it out in offering in front of Jonathan. "Drink it. If you refuse, I'll inject it."

Jonathan glared balefully at Finney. He cast a brief glance down at his arm and saw that it had healed over, and then he held out his chained hands to take the glass. He didn't _want_ to accept it, but he knew he needed it. Being stubborn now would only leave him weakened later. "Thank you," he said, and he brought the glass to his lips and downed it in a couple of swallows. It seemed more palatable than usual, but then, he'd lost a lot of blood, and he was quite hungry for it.

"I'm not doing it to be cordial," Finney said. "I told you, Lord Redgrave has plans for you." He looked down at his now-healed wrist and then took the glass, setting it on the mahogany Pembroke table. "But I will give you a bit of 'friendly advice', Newborn. It's not a good idea to cross His Lordship. Something even a commoner like you should have known."

"Now Finney, we have many well-bred English gentlemen in Ascalon, not just noble stock," Lord Redgrave said as he returned, and he carried a pewter goblet in his hands. He smiled as he stood in front of Jonathan. "Leave us," he commanded, his attention focused on the raven. He heard the soft click of heels that accompanied the bow, and he glanced over, anaemic grey eyes slowly following Finney as he left. Once the iron door had swung closed, he flicked his gaze back to Jonathan. "Hello, Doctor Reid. Are you feeling better now?"

"I am, thank you." Jonathan pressed his lips into a thin line. "Though spare me your concern. Why have you brought me here?"

"Now, now, you wound me. Your well-being is rather important to me. If it wasn't, well frankly, I'd have just allowed Lord Finney to quietly dispense with you." He smiled warmly, the expression not reaching his eyes. "I just wanted to have an amicable chat."

Jonathan struggled against the shackles, and then turned a narrowed gaze to the older man. "This is your definition of amicable?" He frowned. "I cannot say I appreciate your methods. If you wished to talk, you could have asked me to meet you."

Lord Redgrave chuckled. "So brashly outspoken, you are. I would almost find it endearing if it didn't irritate me so." He sobered. "The last time I spoke with you, you were being rather recalcitrant. I thought this way, you might be a bit more agreeable, and chaining you, I'd have your undivided attention."

Jonathan's frown deepened. "Then let's dispense with the pretenses. What is it that you want?"

"Straight to business," Lord Redgrave replied with a note of amusement. "As if time is our enemy. You will learn, young Ekon, that with immortality, time becomes immaterial. A minute? An hour? A decade? All meaningless. Like a fine wine, every moment should be savoured." He approached Jonathan then, extending the blade of his wine key and slicing cleanly across his wrist. Holding out the goblet, he let some of Jonathan's blood run into the cup, and then he took a step back. "Mm, delightful," he remarked after taking a sip. He set the blade on the table next to Jonathan's empty glass, and he leaned lightly against the edge. "I do not wish for us to be enemies. I know that you are a powerful Ekon with a strong bloodline, and I would very much like for us to be allies, standing together to protect England and all her assets. To that end, I would like you to reconsider my request to turn Aloysius Dawson."

Jonathan grimaced slightly as he flexed his wrist. The wound was nearly healed, though the shackles were tight, and were starting to chafe at his skin. He glanced up at Lord Redgrave and arched a brow. "And why would I do that? Why me?" He glanced around the space, and with his vampiric senses, he could see at least a dozen members milling about upstairs - most of them vampires. "You can't possibly be serious. You have other members who I'm sure would be more than willing to offer their blood, to play the part of the doting sycophant for you and do whatever you asked of them."

Lord Redgrave's brow furrowed, Jonathan's continued belligerence beginning to grate. "True enough. But I want the best for the club, and right now, that is you. For us to grow strong, we need a strong lineage."

Jonathan stared hard at him. "Why don't _you_ do it then, Your Lordship? If you're descendent from William Marshall, I would have thought you'd be anxious to continue your own bloodline?"

Lord Redgrave snarled softly, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits as he finished what was in his goblet and set it down on the table with a bit more force than was necessary. Ignoring the question, he said, "You will do this thing for me, and see him reborn as one of us, a powerful Ekon. And for your loyalty and obedience, we will welcome you back into the fold with open arms, your previous…transgressions forgotten."

Jonathan snorted softly. "And if I refuse?"

"If you refuse, then I will take your blood against your will and Aloysius Dawson will become an Ekon regardless. You will cease to exist as an individual, and I will view you as nothing more than a means to an end - my immortal fountain. You will spend the rest of your days in chains, your purpose to provide the necessary life-giving blood for any future Ekon we wish to make, and to serve as my own personal vintage for me to sup your strength over time. And then, when you have outlived your usefulness to me, I will see you beheaded and your heart fed to the rats."

Jonathan cocked his head to the side slightly, an incredulous arch of a brow following as he listened to Lord Redgrave outline his 'terms'. "Your puppet or your prisoner; hardly a choice. Though at least with the latter, I know I did not compromise my integrity." He gave the older man a cold smile. "I decline your _generous offer_ , Your Lordship."

Lord Redgrave's jaw ticked slightly as he glowered at Jonathan for a moment. "So be it," he spat. "I admire your conviction and staunch adherence to your principles, but you have made a grievous error in defying me. One that you will soon live to regret, I promise. This is Ascalon's domain. Prepare to endure Ascalon's law." He turned towards the door. "Finney!" When the brunet vampire came in and gave a respectful bow, Lord Redgrave's eyes narrowed. "Chattel does not need to be comfortable."

"Yes, Lord Redgrave." Finney crossed the stone floor with deliberate steps, each footfall echoing ominously in the open space. He stopped when he reached the winch, and he smiled darkly as he looked at Jonathan, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "I warned you, Newborn, but some people just don't listen." He turned the winch one full revolution, the smile widening as the chain pulled Jonathan off of the chair. He completed two more revolutions, stopping when the balls of Jonathan's feet were just able to brush the flagstone.

Jonathan could feel the pull in his shoulders, the majority of his weight now supported by his wrists, and he grimaced as he tried to figure out the best way to stand that would cause minimal discomfort.

Lord Redgrave put a hand on Jonathan's chest to hold him still. "All you have to do is agree to my request, and I will let you down. I can be civilized. But I can also be cruel. A lesson you will quickly learn." He glanced over his shoulder at the other Ekon. "Leave him, Finney. We must prepare Mister Dawson for his big night. When the time comes, I will need your help to prepare his _treatment_."

"Of course, Lord Redgrave," Finney replied as he took the empty bucket and the two wineglasses with him, and then turned off the lights as they left.

Once they were gone, the room seemed to grow colder, and the silence was deafening. Jonathan could hear his own heart beating, could smell the traces of his blood that remained and the sharp smell of the wine that sat in barrels. The room was pitch black, but if he chose to, he could call on his vampiric abilities to see. The only downside to doing that was it fatigued him quicker than his 'normal' vision did, and without a food source readily available to replenish his energy, it would only leave him more vulnerable in Lord Redgrave's hands. He did, however, spend a few minutes studying his shackles. He had nothing available to him to even attempt to pick the lock, and in his current position, he couldn't get enough leverage to make even a small jump to reach the chain to try and climb it. Realizing that, for the moment, escape was impossible, he tried to follow what was going on above him. Time was difficult to estimate, though he surmised it was still fairly early from the number of members actively moving about. His hands felt icy, a combination of the room and being suspended, and he flexed his wrists slightly against the tight bracelets. It offered no relief, and after a while he could tell that the iron had bit into his flesh.

Alone in the dark, he didn't know if he dozed off, or if he just felt like he had, but he became aware of an echoing _tap-shuffle-tap-step_ echoing from somewhere around him. The sound continued for a while, and then there was the slow creak of the door opening. As the lights were turned on, Jonathan was momentarily blinded by the brightness. Screwing his eyes closed, he turned his face to press as best as he could against his bicep, slowly cracking them open and waiting for his vision to focus. He saw Lord Redgrave, dressed in a bespoke tailcoat and black silk ascot for the occasion. Lord Finney was with him, as was Lord Sheffield, the two of them helping the elderly Aloysius Dawson across the cold floor, all equally well turned out for the evening. Dawson carried a cane when he walked, and seeing him, Jonathan was now able to identify the sound he'd heard.

"Aloysius," Lord Redgrave purred. "The time has come, _finally_ , for you to join our elite brotherhood. Are you ready, my friend?"

Dawson nodded. "Very much so. I've been preparing for this moment for years." He cast a disapproving glance at Jonathan. "He will cooperate?" he asked hesitantly.

"He will comply," Lord Redgrave answered, and he nodded to Finney, who went to the hand winch and lowered the chain just enough so that Jonathan's hands were at chest level.

As the feeling flooded back into his hands, Jonathan looked at the shackles, and he could feel the stickiness from the blood, could see it starting to seep out from underneath the cuffs. "This is madness," he said.

"You have not been invited to speak," Lord Redgrave said. "You do not need your tongue to be my tool." He drew his wine key again, and made a long, deep slash in Jonathan's wrist. "Take what you need, Aloysius, and soon you will be reborn as one of us!"

Jonathan tried to pull his arm away, but Lord Redgrave grabbed forcefully to the limb and held it steady for Dawson to drink. He made a repulsed face when he felt the old man's mouth on his arm, the feeble lips hesitantly nibbling at the wound. After a few seconds of that, the disgusted moue morphed into a tight grimace as Dawson latched on tighter, taking his blood from him in long, greedy gulps, soft, delighted _mmms!_ vibrating against his skin. His jaw clenched as Dawson continued to feed, his upper lip drawing back in a low snarl. "That's enough!" Jonathan growled, knowing that Lord Redgrave was allowing Dawson to be a glutton solely to spite him.

After a few more seconds, Lord Redgrave gently prised Dawson from Jonathan's arm and offered him a linen napkin. "Very good, Aloysius. Sheffield, take him somewhere quiet to rest while he awaits his transformation. I will join him shortly."

"Yes, Lord Redgrave." Sheffield came over to the elderly gentleman, and with a warm smile and a slight incline of chin, he very gently picked Dawson up in his arms, and when the cane clattered to the floor, he chuckled softly. "You will not be requiring that soon, Sir," he told the man, and then excusing himself, he and Dawson left the room, Dawson's life signs already starting to fade.

"Well done," Lord Redgrave praised Jonathan as he leaned over and licked the last trickle from his forearm, a small shiver running through him. "Finney, return him to his previous position. I do so enjoy my statuary." While Finney turned the winch, Lord Redgrave smiled. "Aloysius Dawson required a little help. Anyone else, I think we can manage with you completely incapacitated." He picked up the ebony cane from the floor and handed it off to Finney, and then took a tasting glass from the table. "It's unfortunate you heal so quickly. It would be incredibly satisfying to slit your wrists and watch your blood slowly drip from your body. But, I think I've found an equally enjoyable solution." His eyes cold, he cut Jonathan's wrist with his knife, and gathered the blood into the wineglass. "Enjoyable for me, at least." He crooked two fingers, beckoning Finney to follow him, and the two left, once again putting Jonathan in cold, silent darkness.

Jonathan was exhausted, and he was having a difficult time keeping his eyes open. The effects from the garlic had worn off when Finney had first bled him, and while the rat had helped marginally, he knew the drug still coursed through his system. The imposed sensory deprivation made anything he did experience feel painfully overwhelming. The iron shackles cut deeper into his skin, making his flesh feel like it was crawling, and the scent of his blood as it trickled down his forearms was only fuelling his hunger. His heartbeat seemed to echo through the space, and there was nothing he could do to drown it out. To make matters worse, he hadn't fed before he'd gone to check on the boy, assuming it would be a fairly quick visit and he would do it later. He regretted that indiscretion, though he did smile a little when he remembered Geoffrey offering his wrist to him as he'd scolded him just a couple of nights ago. _Geoffrey…_ he thought, and he vowed that if he found a way to get himself out of these chains, he wouldn't let the brunet run again. He would pin him down and make him listen to what he had to say. A soft growl sounded low in his throat as he thought more about that, his smile widening and sharpening as other more licentious thoughts passed through his mind - thoughts that involved much more than just caressing a rough-stubbled cheek. His body pulsed painfully as he imagined that wicked mouth and Geoffrey's blood, a somewhat salacious grin cresting for a moment as he rather unprofessionally remembered the way the brunet's body had looked when he'd first examined him. He'd meant it when he'd called Geoffrey a devil: brash, ruggedly handsome, impertinent as hell, and _intoxicating_. Thinking about him helped to pass the time and take his mind off of how much his body hurt.

Jonathan had no idea how long he'd been daydreaming, or if he'd even nodded off, but he opened his eyes when he felt the drag of the blade against his arm. Blearily, he shifted his eyes to their corners and saw Lord Redgrave and a middle-aged man he didn't recognize, the latter latching on to his arm and feeding from him. He closed his eyes for an extended blink, and then laughed softly, the sound low and dark.

"You find something amusing?" Lord Redgrave asked snippily, his brow furrowed slightly.

"I do. When I became a vampire, I had no idea I'd be siring so many illegitimate progeny. My mother would be _so_ proud to know I'd given her such _fine_ gentlemen as grandsons."

"Insolent," Lord Redgrave said with a scowl, though after a few more seconds, he eased the gentleman away from Jonathan. "I must grudgingly admit, your will is strong; though after a few more nights like this, we'll see if you're still so contemptuous." Passing the man off to the care of Lord Finney, he took the time to fill another glass with Jonathan's blood. "A digestif. We shall speak more tomorrow. Pleasant dreams." And with that, Lord Redgrave left Jonathan alone - this time leaving the lights on.

Despite the brightness of the room and the uncomfortable position he was in, Jonathan did manage to doze for a little while. His dreams were restless. Beyond fatigued now, he was having a difficult time controlling the direction of his thoughts. No longer able to block out the unpleasant memories, he thought about Edgar's actions, and his heart ached with the betrayal. He thought about the two Ekon he'd been forced to create, and how repulsed he'd been by their mere presence. He found himself wishing that they wouldn't survive the metamorphosis, and yet he somehow knew that they would. And he despised Lord Redgrave, wondering how many others he'd be forced to make before he was allowed to die. As he'd come to learn that night, not just in his dealings with the club chairman, but all the members he'd interacted with, wearing a suit and tie did not an honourable gentleman make. His thoughts turned to Grace then, and the cruel, heartless way she'd been killed. The Guard of Priwen called vampires _monsters_ , and when he saw her twisted and contorted body in his mind, heard her laboured breaths, he fell asleep thinking that maybe they weren't really wrong to say so.

He awoke with a start sometime later, and he clenched his jaw as his wrists and shoulders protested the movement. Glancing around, he saw that he was alone in the room, though he was beyond hungry, and his body throbbed painfully with the want for blood. He could hear another rat scratching around in the wall, and silently, he wondered if he could mentally control it, make it come to him so that he could eat it. It was folly, and he knew it, but it didn't stop him from trying it nonetheless. The room felt even colder for his hunger, and he visibly shivered, the uncontrolled movement sending another rivulet of blood down his arms from his wrists. He watched the way the crimson snaked over his skin, wicking into the fabric of his sleeves, and in desperation, he attempted to crane his neck, his tongue stretching out as far as he could make it, hoping he could possibly lick even a single drop from his flesh. He loosed a frustrated growl when he failed spectacularly, though his eyes flicked to the doorway when he heard it open.

By now, he expected Lord Redgrave, and while he knew the man's solo appearance didn't necessarily mean anything, he was relieved to see that he didn't have a line of potential vampires waiting behind him. Jonathan remained silent as the silver-haired man paced over to stand in front of him, his pewter cup in hand. He snorted softly when he saw it, and then turned his icy stare back to the other's face, expression stubborn despite the pain and exhaustion and hunger.

"Anything flippant to say to me this evening?" Lord Redgrave asked tartly as he stared back at the raven. When Jonathan said nothing, he arched a brow. "No? Hm. I'm not sure whether to be pleased by your submissiveness, or disappointed by your lack of spirit." He waited for another few seconds, and then said, "You'll be pleased to know that both Aloysius Dawson and James Hurst have both joined our ranks. I thank you for your…contributions."

"You're a bastard," Jonathan said raspily, his hunger leaving his throat feeling parched. "And I despise you."

Lord Redgrave smirked darkly. "Ah, so you _are_ still in there. Good. To think that such a strong Ekon was so mentally weak, it would have been…unsatisfying." He pulled out his wine key, and extended the blade. "Did you know that there are ways to torture a vampire?" he asked, his tone conversational. "Oh yes, they can be injured physically, and the body will feel the pain, but in time, those wounds will heal and the immortal will carry on unscathed. No, I much prefer mental tortures. For example, a chained up Ekon can be bled repeatedly and starved until the thirst drives him mad. Oh yes, it's true. In the end, his mind is broken, and he becomes nothing more than a feral beast, lashing out at anyone who comes near, all traces of humanity gone. But, the blood remains potent." He chuckled. "I've witnessed it. Done it as a punishment a time or two, in fact. The longest I've seen has been two weeks. Do you think you'll fare better? I'm curious to find out."

"You won't break me," Jonathan said defiantly, his last word trailing off to a pained groan when Lord Redgrave slit his forearm in a long, deep cut from the inside of his elbow down to his wrist.

"A challenge. Mm, I like that," he said as he held his goblet out to fill. A brow arched when he saw how much slower the blood moved, the crimson fluid thicker and more viscous than before. "Ah, and so it begins," he said as he watched. "You're low on blood already. Hm, I may have to have Finney toss you a rat once a week or so, just to keep your blood moving in your veins. I'd hate for you to dry up before I was finished with you." Once his glass was full, he swirled it gently, as one would a wine. "How wonderful. More like a fine port versus an exquisite burgundy. I shall savour this tonight."

Lord Redgrave was heading for the doorway when Lord Hutchinson met him just inside the threshold. "Apologies, Your Lordship," Hutchinson said. "I just wanted you to know that Arthur spotted a human walking around in the garden. I didn't see the need to raise an alarm; it's just one person."

Lord Redgrave nodded. "Find out what they want. And then kill them." He glanced at his glass. "Dinner…and dessert. I think-"

The rest of the conversation was lost to Jonathan once the door was closed and the lights turned off. Jonathan let his head hang forward, and he shook his head, wishing he could warn the mortal it wasn't safe and to just run away. It wasn't like they had come for him anyway.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Added some more information to the notes section (including a link to a beautiful art). Beyond that, just fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> Well! For those of you who have been patient, I hope this chapter will be a worthwhile reward. ♥ It's been a slow road of late - RealLife(tm) has been annoying and busy, but rest assured, I do write every day. I've got this thing outlined, so it's fleshing it out. Still not 100% sure how many more chapters, but a few yet. This is a lot bigger than the five I'd thought I'd manage when I first set out. Seems like it's taking on a mind of its own. ¬_¬ That said, there was a _lot_ more I wanted to write here, but if I had, the chapter would have been ridiculously unwieldly, so I made the decision to cut it off where I did, and the other things will be dealt with as we move forward. I've not forgotten, but I can't write about everything all at once. All questions will be answered. Promise! ^_^
> 
> Prior to posting this chapter, I was shown a very lovely piece of art by NOT A SINNER depicting a hypothetical rescue scene between Geoffrey and Jonathan. It's quite gorgeous, and I highly recommend taking a look. You can find it [here](https://hostr.co/file/970/YjSLB1io4w2z/rsmr.jpg). **NEW:** This artist has created a Fanart Tribute showcasing their talent. The link is at the end of the story, but you can also find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/36259533). Check it out and leave some love. The style is gorgeous, and I'm really quite partial to it. Thank you for sharing it with me (and giving me permission to share it here) dear heart. xo 
> 
> A note on strychnine: A potent poison, but also an effective aphrodisiac - though the dosage must be very precise. According to one site, strychnine can cause an increased sensitivity of the senses (the feeling that vision, hearing, taste, smell are more acute) and faster reflex response. And, of course, increased sexual desire... ¬_¬
> 
> A note on the guys' heights: In game, if you kill Edgar, the next night, there's a newspaper article citing his disappearance, and it gives a physical description of him, saying he's 6' tall. When Jonathan rescues Edgar from the theatre, you can see that Edgar comes up to about Jonathan's eyes - basic human anatomy, that makes him 3-4 inches taller. And when Geoffrey and Jonathan are having their first staredown, Geoffrey is just marginally taller, maybe a half inch or so. So, the good doctor and our beloved hunter are truly tall men - 6'3" to 6'4" (which is hilarious considering in 1918, the average height of a man was 5'9"...)
> 
> A note on vampire sex - my belief is they have blood, and they have saliva (possible, since blood is 92% water, and kissing a dry or constantly bloody mouth is just gross). Other 'fluids' (read: come, tears) must be some derivative of the two. Use your imagination as to what that means when these guys do it, kids. ~_^
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you who have read, left comments, talked to me, and found inspiration for your own projects. I think it's awesome that we've been able to share in this adventure together, and I'm grateful to all of you. Much love for each of you - your enthusiasm feeds my Muses. ♥♥ xoxo

Geoffrey was in relative bad humour when he reached the wrought iron gates that led to the Ascalon Club. He was tired, and hungry, and annoyed that the vampire elite had zero respect for the claim he'd already made on Jonathan Reid. As he stood on the street, he slowly let his gaze travel over the pristine brickwork of the perimeter wall, and with a derisive snort, he passed under the archway and into the garden. A brow raised when he saw the number of large copper braziers that lit the footpaths leading to the front entrance where a massive pair of lion statues flanked the staircase. He had always known where the Ascalon Club was, but he had never personally been on the other side of the wall, and as he glanced around, he thought the whole thing seemed overstated and pretentious, hardly a subtle setting for vampires to blend in among mortals. "Pompous arseholes," he muttered, his attention turning to the front door when he heard the slide of the viewing panel. Pivoting more fully towards it, he met the curious eyes staring out at him, and offered a parody of a wave.

"What do you want?" the voice called out.

"I'm here to see Lord Redgrave," Geoffrey called back, and he took a few steps closer, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Hmm, not really."

"Then I suggest you leave."

Geoffrey's brow arched. "Or?"

The eyes blinked, as if surprised by the response. "You don’t want me to come out there, Sir."

Geoffrey snorted contemptuously. "I'm not afraid of a voice behind a door. Just save yourself a lot of misery and let me see Lord Redgrave." With measured steps, he climbed the stairs and stood in front of the door. He could feel that same electric-type barrier he'd felt on Jonathan's balcony, so he stopped, and he waited. He peered at the dark eyes that stared back at him, and he cocked his head to the side slightly, as if to say, _Well?_ He could see that the man on the other side was getting annoyed by his refusal to leave, but he couldn't do much to him from inside.

_Lord Redgrave says to kill him…_

Geoffrey heard the voice call from somewhere inside the manor, and he glanced away as if bored, biding his time and knowing that his patience would eventually be rewarded. He didn't have too long to wait. After another few seconds had passed, he heard the slide of the latch on the door, and then the soft _click_ as the knob was turned. Narrowing his eyes, he paused another fraction of a second, and then delivered a hard front kick to the door with his boot, driving the edge of the door straight into the doorman's face and sending him reeling backwards a few steps, blood running from his nose and lip and chin as he staggered to keep his balance. He offered a parody of a smirk, arms held tauntingly out to the sides, and stood silently, watching.

"Bastard!" Arthur shouted as he held a hand against his chin, cupping his palm in hopes of keeping it from dripping onto the floor, the wounds already starting to heal. "Come here so I can tear you apart!" he added on a hissed growl as he bared his fangs and licked the tips of his claws.

Geoffrey glanced at the open doorway, and then back at the other. That sounded like an invitation to him. "Okay," he murmured as he offered a blasé shrug, and he took a single step across the threshold. "Hn." His expression decidedly smug, he drew his sword, and before the other could react, he shadow jumped himself closer and in one continuous movement, brought his sword up to drive it through Arthur's heart. "Thing about leeches," he said as he twisted the blade, a cold smile on his face as he watched Arthur's contort in agony, "is that they're so bloody predictable when you piss them off." He gave the sword another half turn and then, foot braced against the centre of Arthur's chest, he pulled the blade free with a soft grunt. He paused for a moment as he caught the scent of blood, and his hunger surged. When he'd first smelled it, he'd craved skal blood, and still did. But as he stood over Arthur, he quickly discovered that Ekon blood was a different thing altogether - stronger and sweeter - and he _ached_ with want for it. Jonathan would always be ambrosia, but it seemed he'd found his manna. He licked his lower lip, regretting that he'd killed the doorman so quickly and in doing so, denied himself a bite. Turning away from the dead vampire, he had a look around the grand hallway. Tapestries hung on the walls, along with portraits of club members, both past and present. Elaborately woven rugs covered the floors, and exquisitely crafted sofas and chairs were placed to allow for conversation. He headed for the central staircase, not really knowing where he'd find Lord Redgrave, only to be stopped by another challenger.

" _En garde!_ " the Ekon shouted as he drew his sword and saluted and got into a ready stance.

Geoffrey arched a confused brow as he looked at the vampire in front of him, standing and waiting for acknowledgement, as if preparing for a duel. "Rapier? Quaint." He cocked his head as he looked at the other, and then snorted softly as he sidestepped a lunge. "Are we fencing, then?" he asked tartly. "Quit poncing around and fight like a man!" With a snarl, he charged, parrying the strike and then rolling his shoulder into a clockwise spin, offering an unexpected strike in the form of a sharp backslash that caught the man in the side. With a predatory growl, Geoffrey grabbed the other's sword hand and held it as he then went for the throat, his fangs easily puncturing the flesh. Eyes narrowed, he tore himself away, his upper lip drawn back in a pleasured snarl. His entire being was flooded with warmth, and he could feel the energy coursing through him, stronger than just about anything he'd experienced before. He exhaled on a wanton purr as he licked his lips, and then he let the Ekon go, wiping his face with the back of his left hand. He heard the soft groan as the vampire sank to his knees, and smirking darkly he swung his sword around in a smooth arc, beheading the man.

Continuing with his search, he put his foot on the first step, and suddenly the shadows erupted around him, exploding upwards and throwing him backwards and into one of the marble columns. The back of his skull cracked hard against the stone, the force knocking the sword from his hand and sending it skittering across the polished floor in a haphazard spin. "Shit," he muttered as he put a hand to his forehead and gave himself a mental shake, trying to clear the cobwebs as he shifted to one knee and then pushed himself to his feet. He looked around for his weapon, but before he could reclaim it, a dark haired vampire stood in front of him, sabre drawn and raised to strike, two other Ekon, similarly armed, flanking him.

With a snarl, Geoffrey crouched slightly as he raised his left arm straight up, firing a crossbow bolt point blank into the underside of the man's chin, sending the projectile straight into his brain and killing him. Pivoting slightly, he shot two bolts at the vampire to his left, which caused him to stagger backwards. Leaving him for the moment, he drew his revolver, turned, and shot the one to his right, putting two rounds in his heart. With one enemy left, he spun to face the injured vampire, shadow jumping right in front of him and tearing out his throat as he drained him of blood. He closed his eyes and tipped his head towards the ceiling, enjoying the brief moment of light-headed euphoria. He could smell the scent of Ekon blood heavy in the air now, and he lightly flicked the tip of his tongue over his upper lip, as if to taste it, his bloodlust far from sated. With a soft snort, he located his sword and picked it up, the sound of metal dragging across the tile echoing in the entranceway, and he made his way up the marble staircase, revolver once again holstered.

He turned left and quietly made his way along the corridor, eyes narrowed and senses on alert. He held up his sword to parry when a man he knew as Lord Sheffield jumped out at him with a feral shout, and he swung his blade around, dislodging Sheffield's court sword, and following through to stab him in one clean strike through the heart, roughly pulling the weapon free and pivoting around, sword raised, to come face to face with a younger man who had been quietly trying to flee. The Ekon stared at him wide-eyed, hands held up in front of him in surrender and obviously afraid. Geoffrey cocked his head to the side as he studied him, and he quickly came to realize two things. First, not everyone who belonged to the club seemed to buy in to Lord Redgrave's mandate of _fight to the death for Ascalon_. And second, he seemed to have developed the ability to perceive a lot of information from the vampires he was dealing with. By looking at them, he could sense a basic idea of how old and how strong they were, and if they were injured, weakened or tired. And if he could smell or taste the blood, it was even more specific - to where he could glean hints about their Maker's abilities. Initially, he'd chalked it up to just a gut feeling downstairs when he'd faced Arthur, and then his 'fencing mate', but now he was certain it was more than that. He glanced at Sheffield, and took a discreet sniff of the air. From his appearance and the scent of his blood, Geoffrey could tell that Sheffield was not more than fifty years a vampire, and his Maker had been someone slightly older, not all that remarkable. Blue eyes shifted back to the panic-frozen one in front of him, and the corners of his lips turned down. Barely a year old, if that, and spineless. He snorted contemptuously as he took a half step closer, the tip of his sword pressing against the other's sternum. "How many leeches are in here?" he demanded.

"W-what?"

"Tch." Geoffrey huffed irritably. " _Vampires_. How many of you belong to this…place?" 

"I-I really don't know," the Ekon stammered. "On a busy night, when we have a social event, I've seen maybe fifty? I never counted."

"Christ, you're useless. I should kill you just on principle," Geoffrey muttered impatiently.

The Ekon flinched. "God, p-please don't! I only came tonight to play cards, or maybe a game of skittles."

Geoffrey snarled lowly, finding the cowardice beyond disgusting. "Do you know where Lord Redgrave is?" He rolled his eyes when the other shook his head nervously, his fingers flexing along the grip as he held himself back from just driving the blade straight through. "Are you capable of _finding him_?" When the man nodded, Geoffrey said, "Tell him Geoffrey McCullum from the Guard of Priwen is calling. If he's smart, he'll come find me, because if I have to hunt him down, he'll regret it." He slowly lowered his sword. "Go. Before I change my mind."

The man hesitated, studying Geoffrey for a couple of seconds, and then offered a stiff nod of his chin before he turned and walked briskly away from him, casting the occasional glance over his shoulder to make sure that Geoffrey wasn't following him - or going to shoot him in the back.

Geoffrey snorted under his breath as he watched him leave. He figured his father had to have been someone influential and had left him a substantial sum of money for Lord Redgrave to have recruited him because if _that_ was Ascalon material, he wouldn't have to worry about eradicating the club. They'd do it themselves over time. He took advantage of the momentary lull to reload his revolver. Dumping the spent brass on the carpet, he put three fresh rounds into the cartridge and snapped it closed, and then he added more bolts to his crossbow. Rearmed, he walked off in the direction the young Ekon had gone. Assuming he hadn't been trying to deceive him - and Geoffrey figured he was too mousy to even contemplate such a thing - it was doubtful he'd find Lord Redgrave in that wing of the building.

He did kill three more as he made his way to the other end of the manor. One, he'd beheaded as he'd lunged at him. The second he'd grabbed by the shoulders and torn out his throat as he'd fed off of him, the additional blood only driving his want for more. The third had taken him by surprise, claws and fangs piercing into his flesh. Geoffrey grunted in pain, and after shaking the Ekon off of him, he'd been beyond irritated with the man and wanted nothing more than to hurt him. Narrowing his eyes, he'd held his hands out, looking to incapacitate the vampire for a second or two so he could catch his breath. Both brows went up when, instead of simply freezing the Ekon in place as he'd done with the skal, he'd shuddered in agony for a couple of seconds before his blood simply exploded out of his chest. Geoffrey had blinked in shock for a moment as he looked around at the gruesome scene that he'd inadvertently created before a dark smile slowly curved his lips upward. That particular skill was going to be hellishly convenient. As he made his way down the final corridor, he stopped outside a set of double doors and glanced around. He knew that Lord Redgrave waited on the other side of the door, though the number of vampires present as a whole was currently very small, the majority lurking quietly in various corners of the first floor, likely waiting to make their escape. _Like rats, deserting a sinking ship,_ Geoffrey thought, and scowling, he pushed open the doors and went inside. Briefly, his eyes glanced around Lord Redgrave's drawing room before landing on the man himself.

"So, you represent the infamous Guard of Priwen," Lord Redgrave drawled with no small amount of scorn as he set his pen down on the desk and closed his journal. Slowly, he pushed himself into a standing position and paced carefully around the desk to stand before Geoffrey, staring loathsomely at him. "London's low-class mutts, perpetually sniffing around and just generally being a nuisance. I'd be hard pressed to say which I despise more, you or those filthy sewer skals. Hm, probably the skals; you at least do me the courtesy of eliminating them." The watery grey eyes narrowed. "I suppose congratulations are in order. You finally found us, hunter."

"I've always known where you were. And I know who a lot of your members are. I just had more important things to do before now." Geoffrey smirked as he gave his sword a sharp snap with his wrist, watching as the blood droplets flicked off the edge of the blade to spatter across the immaculate floor. The smirk widened when he saw the slight tic in Lord Redgrave's jaw. "I've killed nine of yours tonight, including your doorman, and Sheffield. Was that the best Ascalon had to offer? If so, I'm disappointed. I'd expected more of a fight from the _vampire elite_."

Lord Redgrave's expression tightened further when he learned that both Arthur and Sheffield had been dispensed, and for a moment, his jaw worked silently. "How many more of you can I expect?" he asked. "I'm sure you're here to see the execution of your Great Hunt. But I assure you, the Ascalon Club is conducting its own investigations into the epidemic. We are just as anxious to put an end to it as you are."

Geoffrey shook his head. "It's just me. And I'm not here about the Great Hunt. I've called that off. For now."

Lord Redgrave looked visibly surprised by both pieces of information. "Just you?" He found that highly irregular. "Well, that is good news for the Ascalon Club, and far be it for me to question your decision. That said, what is it you want?" he asked finally.

"I'm looking for Jonathan Reid, and you're going to return him to me."

Lord Redgrave laughed. "Doctor Reid? Well, he's not here, and even if he was, what concern is it of yours, human mongrel?"

Geoffrey arched a brow when Lord Redgrave called him _human_. It wasn't the first time he'd been mistaken for a mortal; even his own men had faced difficulty when dealing with him. It made him curious, and he thought about what Usher Talltree had told him. "Priwen business. Which makes it none of your business why I want him." He smirked as he took a couple of steps closer to the older man. "And you're lying. My scouts saw two of yours bring him here last night."

"Your scouts were mistaken," Lord Redgrave replied coolly. "Perhaps working too many nights is causing them to hallucinate?"

Geoffrey considered that for a moment, his smirk widening. "Maybe. But I also know you're drinking his blood. I can smell it." He glanced sidelong at Lord Redgrave's desk, and then picked up the pewter goblet that sat innocuously on the corner to give it a cursory sniff. "If you're going to lie to me directly, make sure you get rid of any damning evidence first," he snarked before he drank the last swallow. His eyes closed for a moment and he sucked in a breath through his teeth as a pleasured shudder wracked his frame. He exhaled deeply, the last coming out as a very contented murmur - though there was something else in the blood that he couldn't identify. Slowly, he ran his tongue along his lower lip as he set the goblet down forcefully. "So, I'll say it again. I'm looking for Reid. Give him to me."

Lord Redgrave's eyes widened in shock as he watched Geoffrey first locate and identify the glass, and then drain its contents. He saw the telltale swoon, and his lips pressed into a thin line. "Ekon!" he hissed. "Which of our kind would be fool enough to make you into one of us?"

Geoffrey chuckled. "To be honest, I was fairly against it myself at first. But I'm starting to come to terms with what I am. And killing leech bastards is a hell of a lot easier this way; my Maker made sure I'd be good at what I do. It gives me shivers!"

Lord Redgrave studied the brunet, and then it clicked. "Ah, I see. Jonathan Reid is your Sire; how disappointing." He snorted softly. "It makes sense now. You feel some compulsion to protect him."

Geoffrey paused, and then dismissively shook his head. "Nah. He doesn't need me to look after him. But he is mine. And you'd better hope like hell nothing _untoward_ has happened to him." A dark smile slowly curved his lips upward. "Make me tell you a third time."

"You think you can threaten me, you pathetic excuse for an Ekon?" Lord Redgrave demanded, straightening to his full height and attempting to intimidate the other. "I am descendant of William Marshall, the greatest knight England has ever known! His blood runs through my veins, and I will destroy-"

Geoffrey's angry growl rode over the rest of what Lord Redgrave was saying. With a forcefully snarled _grah!_ , he used both hands to drive his sword through the centre of the man's chest, pushing him backwards until the tip of the blade had lodged just deep enough into the plaster to offer some resistance. "I can see where this sword sits in your chest," Geoffrey spat menacingly as he leaned closer, resting his weight on the grip of his sword to put upward tension on the blade. His eyes narrowed to rage-filled slits as his upper lip drew back in a sneer, revealing the sharp fangs. "I turn this blade, you die."

Lord Redgrave groaned in agony as he tried to grasp the blade and push Geoffrey away, managing to do little more than cut his palms in the process. He took a couple of laboured breaths, the discomfort in his chest making it difficult to do so.

"Pathetic," Geoffrey said with a condescending sneer. "Your blood is weak. You are not William Marshall's progeny."

"How dare you!" Lord Redgrave sputtered as he glared hatefully at Geoffrey. "He gave me his blood himself!"

Geoffrey smirked callously even as he shook his head. "You may have drunk some of his blood at one time, but that does not make what you say true. You are no more a descendant of him than I am of King Arthur." He paused, his eyes travelling over his features. "But you are older than the others here. I suppose that's something."

Lord Redgrave repressed the wont to shiver under the weight of Geoffrey's assessing stare. It was off-putting, and almost felt more uncomfortable than the sword impaled through his chest. He wanted away from both. "I'm not saying that Doctor Reid is here, or that I will comply with your demand, but if I did, what guarantee do I have that you'll even keep your word?" he asked evasively, trying to change the subject.

"There are no guarantees, Lord Redgrave. The Guard will always be watching you, and the other leeches that come here. Step out of line, and we'll end the lot of you. But for today, I'll let you live. Now answer! You're starting to try my patience, and I'm sure you're not the only one here who knows where he is." He shrugged. "And if you are, I'll take this place apart brick by brick if I must."

Lord Redgrave knew that he was in a difficult situation. However, when he saw Lord Hammersley silently creeping across the floor, sword poised to strike, his eyes narrowed and he responded with one final show of bravado. "This disrespect is unforgivable. By William Marshall, I swear that you will pay for what you've done here today. I will strike you down myself, see you beheaded and your body burned." He snorted, smile sharp. "You cannot defeat Ascalon."

Geoffrey remained silent while Lord Redgrave ranted, listening to his words and watching him carefully as he spoke. "Hn." With Lord Redgrave's last, he reached for his revolver. Left hand still on the sword grip, he turned and extended his right arm, shooting Hammersley twice in the chest and once in the face in rapid succession. His attention remained focused in that direction only long enough to watch the body slump to the floor, the sword clattering against the tile. Geoffrey's face was an expression of utter calm, the blue eyes cold as he turned back to the older man. "You were saying?"

Lord Redgrave had not been expecting the brutal expediency with which Geoffrey had dealt with Hammersley, and his expression was aghast when he saw the amount of blood that had been cast around his drawing room from the shots. "This is…not possible," he murmured absently, and he turned disbelieving eyes to Geoffrey, contemplating the strength and skill of the Neonate that stood before him. Lord Redgrave clenched his jaw, and then, as proudly and with as much dignity as he could muster, he tilted his chin downward slightly, ceding. He'd been bested. The other club members that might have lent assistance were either dead, or conspicuously absent. Those he would deal with later. "The cellars."

Geoffrey cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed, and then nodded as he pulled the sword free, not even trying to be gentle about it. "I believe you," he said as he took the white silk pocket square from Lord Redgrave's jacket and used it to wipe down the length of his sword blade. Satisfied, he unceremoniously dropped the crumpled, soiled cloth on Lord Redgrave's desk, and then slipped his sword back into its scabbard.

Lord Redgrave loosed a half-pained/half-relieved gasp when the sword was pulled from his chest, and he closed his eyes for a second as he felt his body starting to heal the wound. A brow arched as he watched Geoffrey clean his sword, and he huffed in annoyance a moment later. "Civility costs nothing," he said with a distasteful sneer as he picked up the silk and folded it, setting it on a coaster until it could be removed and laundered.

Geoffrey ran his tongue along his upper teeth, pausing to briefly curl it around the point of a canine. "I was civil," he replied. "You're alive still, yeah?"

Lord Redgrave frowned and glanced down at himself. His white double-breasted silk vest had a large hole in it, and was badly stained with blood. He sighed softly. "This was a Henry Poole bespoke suit," he remarked crossly.

"Yeah, looks posh," Geoffrey said flatly, obviously unimpressed by the name, and not caring that it was ruined. "I'd be more worried about the holes I put in you over the ones in your clothes," he said, his expression darkening as he pointed at the older Ekon. "Fair warning to you and the rest of you Ascalon leeches: Reid's mine. Touch him again, and I'll kill you all."

"We are not the monsters you think we are, hunter," Lord Redgrave called to the retreating back. "This whole matter could have been a non-issue if Doctor Reid would have done his sworn duty in the first place. Even now, I had hoped we could come to an understanding on more amicable terms, but he refused to be cooperative."

Geoffrey stopped, and turned to face Lord Redgrave. "That's the problem, innit? I know you were the one who sent him to the theatre, got him to do all your dirty work for you, but when he refused to keep playing into all this shit and be your puppet, it pissed you off, yeah? Pompous twats like you can't stand it when someone shows some free will and tells them no."

Lord Redgrave's lips tightened. "Crass, but you're not wrong. As the Chairman, I have the unique position of making requests of the membership. Those who refuse to comply become a means to an end. And examples must be made. But then, I'm sure you know that we're not the only ones who have used Doctor Reid for personal gain."

Geoffrey took a couple of steps towards Lord Redgrave, his eyes narrowing threateningly. "I _know_ you're not talking about me."

"What?" Lord Redgrave looked genuinely confused by that. "Why would I mean you? Don't be daft. I was referring to Doctor Swansea, of course."

Geoffrey's mouth curved down into a frown, knowing he was not going to like this conversation. "What does Swansea have to do with any of this?"

"Oh, you didn't know, hunter? Your scouts are slipping, tsk, tsk." It was Lord Redgrave's turn to look smug. "Yes, without the efforts of Doctor Swansea, we never would have drawn him back into our fold." He chuckled softly, his arrogance short-lived when he suddenly found his back slammed hard against the wood panelling, and Geoffrey very much in his personal space and holding tightly to his lapels.

"Say that again!" Geoffrey demanded crossly.

Lord Redgrave winced slightly as his head was bounced off the wall, and struggled for a moment before realizing escape was futile and he stilled. "I said that Doctor Swansea was instrumental in arranging our meeting with Doctor Reid."

Geoffrey frowned deeper. He was sure that Lord Redgrave wasn't lying, but something wasn't adding up entirely. "You're telling me that _Swansea_ orchestrated this whole thing? Nah, he's a self-serving git, but why would he help _you_? They're friends."

"Exactly," Lord Redgrave purred contemptuously. "He's delightfully self-interested. And with a man like that, friendships are only as strong as the temptations he is able to resist. It's gloriously Machiavellian."

Geoffrey let out an enraged snarl when he heard that. "Bastard!" Upper lip drawn back in fury, he raised his crossbow arm and fired two shots, one into each shoulder joint, effectively pinning Lord Redgrave immobile to the mahogany panelling.

" _God_!" Lord Redgrave groaned on a pained growl when he was impaled twice, the location of the thick bolts rendering the joints useless and escape unlikely. "You gave your word, McCullum, that you'd spare my life!"

"I know what I said!" Geoffrey replied sharply. "I'm not going to kill you. But I'm not done talking to you, either, and I don't trust you not to scurry off like a rat the second my back is turned."

Lord Redgrave gave him an incredulous look, and then he glared fiercely at the brunet. "You're delusional. Do you seriously believe I'll talk to you about _anything_ after this act of aggression?" he demanded.

Geoffrey was unmoved by the other's angry outburst. "You'd better," he said evenly, his tone quietly malevolent. "Otherwise we're going to have an 'amicable chat' of our own, you and me. I'll be back, so you'd better fucking stay put." He took a step back and glowered at the other. "Cross me, make me have to go looking for you, and I swear to the Lord Almighty, I'll teach you what it means to torture a leech." Leaving Lord Redgrave pinned to the wall like some sort of grotesque giant moth, Geoffrey closed the doors to the drawing room and made his way towards the cellars.

The area underneath the Ascalon Club was of similar square footage as the upper floors, and built with high vaulted ceilings and light coloured masonry that allowed for better reflection of light. The staircases that led underground were steep and narrow, and the corridors themselves were fairly claustrophobic - Geoffrey could walk through them straight on, but there was barely a couple of inches on either side of his shoulders. The rooms themselves were large and open, and efficiently set up for the handling and processing of whatever goods were stored within them. Linens and different pieces of furniture were neatly stored in the first, ready to be used at a moment's notice.

He passed another set of stairs, and he suspected he was now walking along the front wing of the house, as this corridor was much longer than the one he'd just turned out of. He passed by a summer kitchen which was closed up for the winter, and the scullery - he doubted the rich elite wanted to see, hear, or smell the activities that went on there, hence it being relegated to the cellar. He was admittedly surprised by the amount of food they kept in the meat larder and in the root cellar, but he supposed that the Ascalon Club's human members would want food and drink when visiting, and would likely demand the best for their discriminating palates.

He reached the last wing of the manor, and entering that corridor, he kept on alert, half expecting that someone would have come looking for him by now. But, everything remained oddly quiet, and as he turned his gaze upwards to the ground level, he couldn't really sense anyone around. He glanced into a third stairway, and found it empty, and then wrinkled his nose slightly when he smelled the sharp, sour scent of old beer. Finding the source, he realized it was the beer cellar. Empty casks needing to be cleaned out sat by a stone sink, and further back, where it was slightly cooler, the full casks sat, waiting to be drunk. He snorted softly; there was more there than he'd seen in the local pubs, and he wondered what their brew was like. He smirked; he'd have to bring Bates and Jackson back a barrel and get them to tell him. He was sure Lord Redgrave wouldn't miss one, not that Geoffrey really cared if he would. The other side of the corridor from the beer cellar opened up into a large chamber that was mostly empty, save for a few crates of wine bottles and a chest containing carefully wrapped champagne flutes. Geoffrey's brow furrowed when he smelled the faint scent of blood - human - and he approached the crates and took out a bottle. He screwed up his face a little at the smell of the old, stale blood that had dried on the inside. "Bloody leeches," he murmured as he returned the bottle. Obviously, this was the aftermath of one of their 'parties' that hadn't yet been cleaned up. Whatever they had been celebrating, they had toasted to it with blood, decanted into wine bottles so they could parody the mortal custom. He wondered what the source was, whether it was willingly donated by Ascalon members, or if random citizens were caught and bled like sacrificial lambs.

He passed through a second doorway and found himself in another passageway, this one short, but a fair bit wider than the previous. Slightly offset on the other side was a solid oak door with heavy wrought iron hinges and a large iron ring. He stood in front of it and studied it, and then glanced to his left. The passage returned back to the main hallway, and he could see the edge of the staircase. He looked at the door again, eyes narrowed slightly. He couldn't sense anything on the other side, but then, he wondered if the thickness of the door and the walls in this area might have something to do with that, too. He grasped the iron ring and gave it a yank to disengage the latch, and then he pulled the door open, the hinges groaning in protest as it slowly swung wide. It was pitch black in the room save for what light snuck in from the hallway, and he was on guard as he stepped inside. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared as he was hit with the smell of wine and blood. Jonathan's blood. His pulse quickened as he sucked in a breath through his teeth, and his head fell back briefly, the tip of his tongue pressed against his upper lip as he could practically taste it on the air. Glancing around, he could see the light switch on the wall, and he turned it on.

Once his eyes had adjusted, Geoffrey saw that he was, indeed, in a wine cellar - a pretty elegant one at that - though the aesthetics of the room were lost to him when he saw one thing: Jonathan in chains. "Fucking hell," he muttered as he shadow jumped in front of the man, his hands grasping to his cheeks as he raised his head to look in his eyes. The purplish circles were so dark from the blood loss, Geoffrey had needed to do a double take to confirm that he wasn't looking at two black eyes. The icy blue was distant and unfocused, and Geoffrey wasn't entirely sure if Jonathan was in a state of waking catatonia, or if he was just that starved and lost to his hunger. Regardless, the raven was a mess. Blood oozed in thick rivulets from beneath the manacles, running down his forearms to either soak into his shirt cuffs or drip onto the floor. His shirt was partially open and stained with red, and Geoffrey could see the slowly healing cuts from where he'd been bled on his chest and on his forearms. That pissed him off supremely, but when he saw an angry looking bite mark on his chest, mostly hidden beneath the panel of fabric, he was beyond livid, and he growled low in his throat. "Reid! Look at me," he ordered.

Jonathan had heard the door open, and had reflexively braced his face against his arm in anticipation of the light. Once it came on, he'd lolled back against his restraints, too tired to even try to stand. He'd heard noises upstairs, but he hadn't had the strength to see what was going on. And now, Lord Redgrave was there again, looking for blood. It felt like he'd just been there. Jonathan half wondered how long it would take him to fill his glass this time. The last time it had been a good five minutes. He knew, because he'd counted in his head. And he'd even needed to start over a few times!

_Reid! Look at me…_

Jonathan heard the voice, and the pale blue seemed to return to the present, slowly focusing in front of him to meet not anaemic grey but a beautiful cerulean. Suddenly, he let out a single bark of laughter. He had to be hallucinating. "You look much improved this evening, Your Lordship," he drawled on a sardonic grin and he tried to straighten, not wanting to give Lord Redgrave the satisfaction of beating him so thoroughly.

Geoffrey's brows went up. "It's me." He saw Jonathan's brow furrow, and he gave him a quick shake. "Really! It's me."

"Geoffrey?"

Geoffrey smiled a little. "Yeah." He glanced up at the thick chains, turning slightly to follow the path over to the winch. "Hang on. Let's get you out of those."

Jonathan gave a quick nod of agreement, his eyes closing for an extended blink before following the brunet over to the wall. He licked his lower lip, trying not to think about how thirsty he was. "How did you know I was here?"

Geoffrey paused in what he was doing to turn and stare hard at him through his brows. "I told you, I'll never stop hunting you," he drawled.

From the seriousness of the look, Jonathan knew Geoffrey wasn't speaking solely in terms of a target. And he was more than okay with that idea. A very pleasant shiver went through him then, making him momentarily forget his hunger and his exhaustion. The chain slackened then, and Jonathan stumbled a little when his legs were suddenly forced to carry his weight. He gritted his teeth as his shoulders and arms were jarred, but he managed to regain his balance, albeit somewhat unsteadily, and he found his hands were now at face height.

Geoffrey had no interest in fiddling with the winch more than was necessary. Once he'd lowered Jonathan's arms enough to where he could work, he left the crank and went back to the raven's side, pulling a thin bladed flick knife from his pocket and flipping it open with a snap of his wrist. He studied the small padlocks that held the manacles shut, and then, inserting the tip of the knife into the keyhole, he worked it back and forth to pick the lock.

"You're good at that," Jonathan observed, forcing his attention to what Geoffrey was doing so that he would stop staring at his face: his eyes, the shape of his nose, the line of his jaw - and his throat.

Geoffrey glanced sidelong at him. "Priwen needs a lot of supplies. Not everything is necessarily acquired through legitimate sources." He frowned as he returned to his task, trying to ignore the way Jonathan was looking at him. "Don't judge me," he said, mistaking Jonathan's ogling for criticism. "I don't take from those who have nothing to give. But the gangs, the elite, the corrupt? Fair game in my book." The hasp sprung open in a matter of seconds, and Geoffrey turned his attention to the other lock, making short work of it, too. Once he'd finished, he opened the first cuff, wincing slightly when the action pulled the dried blood from Jonathan's wounds and set them weeping. His thumb brushed lightly over the damaged flesh as he met Jonathan's eyes. "Sorry," he murmured as he raised the raven's wrist to his mouth, the point of a fang very gently grazing against the skin and becoming a soft press of teeth against the heel of his hand before he dragged the flat of his tongue over the blood. He inhaled sharply and his eyes reflexively closed when a pleasured shudder rippled through him. Slowly, his eyes slitted open and he mouthed over the deepest wound once before he flushed slightly and released his hold. He cleared his throat then, and forced his attention to the other cuff. "What the hell was this all about anyway?"

Jonathan's eyes went round and wide as Geoffrey gently tended to his wrist - not because the gesture was unwelcome, but because of what being in the other's presence was doing to him. His upper lip twitched with the wont to snarl in pleasure when he felt the teeth against his skin, and he felt his pulse quicken at the teasing glide of tongue. His body twitched, reacting to the things the brunet was doing to him, and he eyed him wolfishly, thoughts of pinning him down and biting him coming unbidden to his mind as his hunger surged. In his weakened state, he wanted him so badly he physically ached inside, and between that and the last of the strychnine, he was having a very difficult time resisting those urges. He was given a slight reprieve when Geoffrey released him and broke the stare, and he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm…not sure. Not completely." His lack of blood was making it difficult to remember, and Geoffrey's ministrations from a few moments before were doing little to help him with the mental clarity. "They drugged me and brought me here. Kept taking my blood to keep me weak. Lord Redgrave wanted my blood to strengthen himself." He frowned in thought, trying to recollect more. "Lord Finney…he visited often and was the one who bled me." He looked down at the floor, and the diluted scarlet trail that ran towards the floor drain, the water never seeming to completely wash everything away. Absently, his hand went to his chest, rubbing at the bite mark before he dropped the limb away. "They used me to make others. I don't know how many." His expression turned contemplative. "That was why they ostracized me in the first place, because I refused to sire one of their initiates."

Geoffrey's jaw tightened more and more with everything Jonathan told him. When he spoke with Lord Redgrave later, he would find out _exactly_ how many, and he would eradicate them. His eyes narrowed hatefully. And it seemed he had a personal vendetta to settle with Lord Finney, too. "Bastards," he muttered as he removed the second cuff. "So they starved you, and still expected you to have the strength to feed them?"

Jonathan snorted humourlessly as he rubbed at his wrists now that they were free, and with a physician's eye, he briefly examined the various abrasions and lacerations from the manacles, as well as the slowly healing cuts all over his forearms. "Well, they were hospitable enough to offer me a rat," he said wryly. His expression turned serious then. "There's another one nearby. I could hear it when I was left in here. I wanted it so badly it was driving me mad." He let his tongue run along his lower lip as he continued to study his arms. "I still want it, Geoffrey." He was mortified by the admission, even as he found himself wondering if in this state his reflexes would even be fast enough to capture it.

"You need more than a fucking rat."

Slowly, Jonathan's eyes flicked up to meet Geoffrey's, narrowing slightly as a hungry, predatory darkness settled over the icy blue. "Oh?" His stare turned more intense. "What are you suggesting?" he asked, his desire to feed starting to take precedence over all other thoughts.

A hint of a smirk turned up the corners of Geoffrey's lips, and he slipped his crossbow off his left forearm to set it on the side of the table. Then, he unbuckled his sword belt and laid it next to the crossbow, his revolver set next to that. Turning around to face Jonathan, he shrugged out of his trench coat and tossed it on top of the pile, his vest following, and then his scarf. Clad in just his shirtsleeves, the smirk slowly widened and turned decidedly smug as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled the fabric midway up his forearms and then he held his hands out to the side. "Well? Tuck in, then!"

Jonathan had been admittedly curious as he'd watched Geoffrey disarm himself, though when the brunet began stripping down to just his shirt, his eyes widened with the realization of what the other intended to do. His throat felt so dry as he let his gaze travel over the other, and he licked his lower lip slowly, swallowing thickly. "Geoffrey, that's madness!" he said, his voice coming out sounding slightly harsh. "I told you before that I have a difficult time controlling myself where your blood is concerned, and right now, it's _so much_ worse!"

"I'm not telling you to control yourself. I'm telling you to eat." Geoffrey's expression turned serious, and he closed the distance between them, his steps measured across the flagstone. He stared hard at the raven, and then let out a soft, arrogant chuckle. "Don't worry, Reid. I can take it."

Jonathan's breath caught when Geoffrey came closer and he could smell the scent of his skin and soap. He could feel his own heartbeat pounding deafeningly in his ears, his body trembling slightly as the bloodlust crested, his need to taste Geoffrey overwhelming. "Bastard," he hissed, even as he reached out and grasped on to Geoffrey's upper arms. His pupils were dilated, his whole body singing with want. "I blame you for tempting me, but in the end, I'm the devil that didn't resist all that strongly." He growled lowly, and then drove his fangs deep into Geoffrey's throat. With the first taste of the brunet's blood, he grasped tighter to him, his eyes falling closed as he drank deeply. In that moment, there was nothing else other than Geoffrey and pleasure, the blood warming him and energizing him, every fibre of him feeling as if on fire, but in a good way. Geoffrey's blood was intoxicating to him and he knew he would never be satisfied; the more he had, the more he wanted. He could feel the strength in it, and of it, and it left him feeling dizzy and euphoric.

Geoffrey had said he was prepared this time, but he hadn't been expecting the ferocity of the bite. He gritted his teeth for a moment as he felt the keen fangs puncture his flesh, and then his eyes had closed in pleasure as he'd felt Jonathan's mouth on him, felt the low rumble of his growl vibrating his skin. He felt a spark of excitement pulse through his frame, could feel Jonathan's aura - strong and powerful - and it called to him. He chuckled darkly, the slight pain he felt from Jonathan's bite only adding to his overall desire. A bit more time passed and then, licking his lips, he put his hands on Jonathan's chest and gently, but insistently, pushed him away to arm's length.

Jonathan's fangs were bared in a sensual snarl, and he loosed a very erotic sound that was part purr/part growl as he closed his eyes and let his hands curl into fists. A moment later, that wave of ecstasy crashed over him, whiting out his vision for a few seconds from the intensity. As it slowly ebbed away, his skin felt electrically charged, his body thrumming. His eyelids slid open, and he turned his attention to Geoffrey then. Slowly, he let the tip of his tongue glide along his upper lip as he stared at the brunet, his bloodlust sated for the moment, but his hunger for him far from satisfied. At least he felt marginally more in control. "Hn. Thank you for that." He looked down at his arms and could see that the wounds were healing at a noticeable rate now. In a few minutes, they would be gone.

Geoffrey swallowed thickly as he watched Jonathan. Those few seconds afterwards, when the raven was lost to the blood and completely open like that, it was one of the most intense things Geoffrey had ever witnessed, and his pulse skipped at the vision Jonathan presented. His breath caught in his throat when he found himself trapped by that arctic stare, the icy blue still just a thin ring around dilated pupils. Jonathan was still hungry, and Geoffrey smirked slowly. He liked that predatory side of the man, and he suspected that if he wanted to be, Jonathan could be quite ruthless, too. The very idea sent a delighted shiver through him. He gave a slight tilt of his chin with the thanks, and he wiped his fingers across his throat to check his own injury, looking at the slight stain of red that came away on them. "You all right then?"

Jonathan arched a brow, his lips curving upwards in the beginnings of an impish smile. "I thought you said you didn't care."

Geoffrey felt a slight flutter of panic in his chest, but he clenched his jaw slightly, and pushed the uncomfortable emotion away. A blasé shrug followed, and he didn't quite meet Jonathan's eyes. "Yeah, well…things change, don't they?" he sniffed.

Carefully, Jonathan closed the distance between them, and he grasped Geoffrey's wrist in his hand. His gaze briefly flicked over to the blood-stained digits, and he let is teeth graze across the pad of the middle finger as he drew in a wanton breath. "Yes. They do," he murmured, and he repeated the gesture starting with the pinkie finger and working his way across. His eyelids fell, the long, dark lashes partially obscuring his eyes as the tip of his tongue curled around the end of the index finger, and then he drew the first joint into his mouth and sucked gently, cleaning it. As he let the digit slip from his mouth, he let the tip of his tongue drag lightly over the middle of his upper lip and teeth, his expression wolfish as he peered at Geoffrey through his brows. He knew he shouldn't, but he _wanted_. "God, Geoffrey," he muttered in exasperation before he grabbed the back of his head with his hand and drew him close, crushing their mouths together as he kissed him. He felt the surprised intake of breath, and pressed deeper, his tongue sweeping over every surface of Geoffrey's mouth, tasting him and wanting even more of him.

Geoffrey was caught up in watching Jonathan so sensually tease his fingers. He'd had no idea that such a simple gesture could ever look so erotic, and he felt his cheeks grow warmer and his heart rate quicken the more Jonathan toyed with him. He felt a pleasant jolt shoot through him when he was again caught in that predatory stare, though when Jonathan grabbed him, for a moment he was frozen in shock. The feel of lips and teeth and tongue pulled him from his stupor, and he groaned softly. He could feel the coarseness of Jonathan's beard, and smell the lingering scent of his cologne on his skin, and he wanted more of him. He raised a hand to thread into Jonathan's hair when suddenly, the raven stood a foot away from him, panting softly and looking somewhat embarrassed. He narrowed his eyes questioningly.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan said. "I didn't mean to do that. Well, I _did_ , but I should have controlled myself better than that. It's the latent strychnine, I'm sure of it." He offered a sheepish smile. "It…well, I just should not have done that."

Geoffrey arched a brow as he listened to Jonathan stumble over his words, and when he'd finished, he snorted softly. "Tch. Yes, you bloody well should have!" With that, Geoffrey grabbed Jonathan by his shirtfront and pushed him backwards, shadow jumping to where he'd knocked him into the cold stone wall with some force.

"Geoffrey, what - mmph!" Jonathan was abruptly silenced by an equally aggressive kiss, the force of it making Jonathan's heart race and his body warm in the most delicious of ways.

The embrace was rough and unapologetic, passionate and borne of emotions Geoffrey didn't know how to put words to. Yes, he was still afraid to let himself love, but he was more afraid of what he might lose, so he pressed harder, not wanting to let the raven go. Geoffrey needed him. And in that moment, all that mattered was proving it. He deepened the kiss, hungrily devouring every surface of Jonathan's mouth as his hands released their grip and slid over, fingers deftly working open the buttons on Jonathan's vest and shirt before he roughly yanked the shirttails from the raven's trousers, parting the fabric to put calloused hands against his chest, thumbs brushing insistently over his nipples as he arched his hips forward, grinding against him.

Jonathan had been taken by surprise by Geoffrey's kiss, though he quickly recovered and responded, a soft moan of pleasure passing between them as he concentrated on strong lips and a questing tongue and the occasional teasing press of fang. He cupped the back of Geoffrey's head, drawing him closer, wanting to taste more of him. Each slide of tongue had him hungering for the brunet that much more, and in turn, he began undoing Geoffrey's shirt, wanting to see and touch his flesh, wanting him closer. He broke away from the embrace with a sharp gasp when he realized how sensitive his chest was to Geoffrey's touch, his eyes blinking open, and then falling half-shut in pleasure as he felt the rigid hardness pressing into him. A very lecherous smile curved his lips upward, and then he narrowed his gaze, expression wolfish as he leaned forward and bit Geoffrey's shoulder hard enough to draw blood. He greedily dragged his tongue through the crimson fluid, his body thrumming with want. "Don't you dare stop," he commanded before he kissed him hard, nipping his lower lip and sucking on the wound before flicking his tongue over Geoffrey's chin.

"Bastard," Geoffrey muttered in pleasure before he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, nails raking hard along Jonathan's flanks when he was bit, leaving a trail of four angry red welts on each side. As soon as the raven pulled away, Geoffrey was licking the remnants of blood from Jonathan's lips as he caught his wrists and pinned them against the wall by his head. He stared hard at Jonathan through his brows, looking very much the dangerous predator he was, and he smirked. "You're mine, Reid. Never forget that," he replied. His grasp tightened on Jonathan's hands, and he dipped his head to bite Jonathan's throat, drinking from him for a few seconds before returning to his lips, the combined taste of their blood sending a shiver down his spine. He pressed his body closer, his six foot four frame only marginally taller than Jonathan's, and he dipped his head to place a line of enthusiastic bites from the juncture of neck and shoulder, all the way along his clavicle. He trailed a hand down the musculature of Jonathan's abdomen to first cup and then squeeze him insistently through his trousers, a smugly pleased sound escaping him when he felt the line of Jonathan's erection, and then he thumbed open the button and slid his hand inside, again squeezing the hard flesh before slipping his hand free.

Jonathan tipped his head back, a very erotic snarl curling his lip upwards when he was pinned back against the wall, the smell of their blood thick in the air. His heart raced in anticipation when he saw the hungry look Geoffrey affixed him with, a slow, libidinous smile curving his mouth up with the cocky remark. "Prove it," he taunted, a lustful growl spilling from his lips when Geoffrey attacked his throat, and he felt his body throb with desire as the brunet fed from him again. His eyes fell to pleasured slits when Geoffrey pressed against him, though as the brunet began to systematically bite him and mark him, they closed completely as a wave of euphoria washed over him, so strong it made him ache inside. He wanted nothing more than to touch Geoffrey's skin, and when a hand was released, he let fingers rove over his chest and torso, tracing the lines of different scars, claws coming out to add their own marks - albeit temporary - when Geoffrey opened his trousers and grabbed his dick. Swallowing harshly and panting slightly, he flexed his fingers, drawing another line of scratches over Geoffrey's back. "Can vampires even - I mean, obviously physically, but is it even possible?"

"Aye, it's possible," Geoffrey said roughly against Jonathan's skin before his mouth found purchase on his collarbone on the other side and he licked along the protrusion. "They can, and they do. I've read documents about it. Some rut like beasts to create their vile and unnatural offspring." He snorted softly, mouthing along to Jonathan's throat and sucking hard, purpling the flesh before he dragged his teeth over the mark and raised his head. "It's fucking disgusting," he added as he met Jonathan's eyes for a moment. "But straight up fucking is a different matter entirely." He smirked and then lowered his head to suck at the hollow of his throat, an angry growl cresting when he saw the last vestiges of Finney's bite wound healing on Jonathan's chest. Baring his fangs, he loosed a possessive snarl and bit hard over the waning mark, a wanton purr following as he tasted Jonathan's blood.

Jonathan's cock pulsed when he heard Geoffrey's explanation, delivered so basely, the thought of the two of them fucking seeming like a very good idea. He snarled in pleasure when he felt the rage-fuelled bite, his claws digging deep into Geoffrey's flesh and dragging along his back. "You would do that here?" he asked.

Geoffrey's upper lip drew back at the feel of claws against his skin, and he pressed a hungry, blood-stained kiss to Jonathan's lips, his teeth catching the lower one and dragging as he released it. "I'm sure Lord Redgrave and his upper class high society types have done much worse things in here than I'm about to do to you."

Jonathan chuckled darkly when he heard that. Roughly jerking his hand free from Geoffrey's flesh, he flicked the tip of his tongue over the ends of his blood-stained fingers and then turned his attention to opening Geoffrey's trousers. As he palmed his erection, he moaned lasciviously. He wanted Geoffrey so much it was beyond comprehension. He _would_ make Geoffrey his, claim him as his, and have him as his, but in this moment, he knew that this was what Geoffrey needed, and he would let him. Besides, delaying, waiting until later in anticipation, would only make things that much more delicious when he did possess him. "Well then, as you like it."

Geoffrey's eyes widened just slightly, and then his pupils dilated as a wicked smirk slowly turned the corners of his lips upward. Surging forward, hands caressing Jonathan's throat, he kissed him urgently, his tongue pressing hard and deep, as if he would devour him that way. With a sharp inhale of breath, he broke the embrace and turned Jonathan, facing him to the wall and pressing his long frame fully against his back as he licked and nipped at his throat. His hands ran down his arms to catch his wrists and bring them up over his head, holding them firm against the wall as he ground against his ass. Shifting to hold him with one hand, the free one reached around to grope him, fingers finding the waistband of his trousers to push them down to his knees. He released Jonathan long enough to step back a half pace and pull his cock free, nudging his feet further apart with one of his own. He arched forward then, a low murmur rumbling deep in his throat as he teased against Jonathan's entrance, his hunger for him burning hot, threatening to consume him. He could feel Jonathan move against him, pressing back, and he groaned softly. "Demon," he growled, one hand gliding over the flesh of Jonathan's chest while the other grasped on to the base of his own dick. He pressed the tip against Jonathan's hole, and then snapped his hips forward, burying himself fully within the raven's body with a feral snarl. "Mine!" he rasped before fangs plunged into Jonathan's throat, and arms going around his body, Geoffrey began to thrust hard.

Jonathan's breath was coming in quick, soft puffs as Geoffrey bared him, and he could feel the way the other was teasing him, driving his arousal to a higher level. It was driving him mad, and he growled lowly in frustration as Geoffrey continued to deny him. He snorted softly in amusement at the comment, though when Geoffrey so roughly and so completely penetrated him, adding in the extra dimension from the bite, his vision went white from pleasure as he loosed a carnal shout, fingers splaying and palms pressing flat against the wall.

Their coupling was passionate and brutal and wanton. It was love and emotion stripped down to their basest form, and it was what they both needed in that moment. It was simple, and they both understood what it meant. Geoffrey savagely tore his mouth from Jonathan's neck, a hand coming up to roughly thread into the jet tresses as he pulled the raven's head back to kiss him hard, his other arm tightening around him and pulling him back against him as he continued to pound into him.

Jonathan groaned softly. Geoffrey was thick and long, and filled him completely as he greedily took everything that Geoffrey gave him. Jonathan let a quiet murmur pass into the kiss, and when he broke the embrace, he grabbed the hand that was in his hair, teeth grazing over the fingers and licking over the ends before he mouthed his way to the brunet's wrist and bit.

" _Fuck_!" Geoffrey snarled, his hips jerking forward for a particularly deep thrust when he felt Jonathan's fangs in him. He let his hand slip lower to wrap around Jonathan's cock, and he stroked him hard, counterpoint to his thrusts and adding a slight twist of the wrist on each upstroke.

Jonathan could feel that wave of euphoria building within him, each thrust, each bite sending him closer to completion. He licked the wound he'd created and released Geoffrey's wrist, his hand dropping to his dick, conjoining with Geoffrey's hand to stroke. Finally, unable to hold back the tide any longer, the wave crashed hard over him and he bared his fangs in a pleasured snarl, head tipped back and eyes closed as he came, pulses of diluted blood spilling over their hands and onto the floor and wall in front of him.

Geoffrey could feel Jonathan's body tense beneath his own, felt every muscle clench, and when the raven hit his peak, he followed suit, tumbling into his own orgasm with a very dark growl, a very similar look of pure ecstasy on his face as he came hard. Panting harshly as the world slowly came back into focus, he let himself slip free from Jonathan's body and turned him, hands again finding his wrists and driving them forcefully into the wall as he kissed him, aggressively at first, and gradually letting his movements become softer and more languid as the urgency of the moment waned. Finally, with a long suckle to Jonathan's lower lip, he eased away with a gentle drag of teeth. His body still pinned the other beneath him, but he'd arched back enough to where he could look into Jonathan's eyes. He couldn't bring himself to say the words, but right then, for as much as he'd fought it and denied it, he knew he loved this man. He would never shake the fear he had of one day losing him completely, but for now, he was okay with the arrangement. He studied the pale blue for several moments in silence, and after his tongue skated slowly along his upper teeth, he smiled. "Lecherous bastard," he said on a quiet tease as he leaned in just enough to lick a small trickle of blood from Jonathan's collarbone, and then over his blood-stained fingers. He inhaled sharply and shivered, then chuckled as he pushed himself away from the wall, releasing the raven from his grasp. "You corrupted me."

Jonathan closed his eyes when he was treated to another round of Geoffrey's kisses, a contented purr following when the brunet eased away. He once again found himself lost in the beautiful cerulean of Geoffrey's eyes, and the look Geoffrey was giving him warmed him to his core. He'd been right; Geoffrey had needed things to happen this way. Not that he was complaining by any stretch, but he would be sure to repay him in kind before too long. That thought sent a completely different sort of heat through his body. He blinked in surprise, eyes widening with the comment, and then he snorted in amusement. "My apologies," he said dryly. "Though remind me; who was that who pinned me to the wall and ravaged me just now?"

"It was your blood. You're the one carrying around an aphrodisiac to tempt me," Geoffrey said slyly. He'd have said the same even without the strychnine, and he let his gaze slowly rake over Jonathan's form. "Hn. Dishevelled is a good look for you, Doctor Reid," he added with a smirk as he fastened his trousers and began buttoning up his shirt.

"And you wear insufferably arrogant very well, Mister McCullum," Jonathan replied with a soft chuckle as he ran his hands back through his unkempt hair in a vain attempt to tame it. The whole evening felt somewhat surreal. Jonathan had started out a prisoner, had been shown what true pleasure felt like, and when he spied his jacket and overcoat neatly folded and sitting on top of a wine barrel, he was reminded that there was still a world outside the wine cellar. He remembered his goals from the night previous, of how he'd needed to speak to Geoffrey about the epidemic. With a resigned sigh, he slipped the garments on; his shirt was effectively ruined, but at least he could walk around without looking like he'd just been in a boxing match. "I do need to talk to you," he began hesitantly as he moved next to Geoffrey.

Geoffrey's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he glanced sidelong at the raven. "About what?" he asked, unable to keep the tight edge from his voice.

"I need your help."

Geoffrey visibly relaxed, even as a brow went up in curiosity. "Really? I'm intrigued. But tell me later. Not here. I don't trust this place." He wrapped his scarf around his neck and tucked the ends into his shirt, and then slipped on his trench coat. "Besides, it's quiet now, but it's not wise to linger here, and you need to rest more." Geoffrey's expression darkened as he rearmed himself. "I have a _conversation_ I need to finish, but I promise, once that's done, I'll come to you."

Jonathan shook his head to protest. "I can't leave. Not until I've spoken to Lord Redgrave. I think I've found a solution to the epidemic, but I need his cooperation. I need some of William Marshall's blood. I didn't know how I was going to get inside the Ascalon Club, but since opportunity presented and I'm here now-"

"No!" Geoffrey interrupted, a note of concern in his voice. "Don't be absurd. You're looking much better now than you were before, but you're still weakened. I can see it. And he-" He cut himself off, his anger rising as he thought about everything that had happened to Jonathan because of Lord Redgrave's machinations, his heart clenching as he wondered what else might have been done to him had he not learned of his whereabouts. His hatred for the Ascalon Club had only grown stronger after this latest round of treachery and scheming. His jaw ticked, and he stared hard at the raven. "You have to know by now that I trust you, and I know you can take care of yourself, but for tonight…" He gave a terse shake of his head, his brow furrowing as he struggled with putting his thoughts to words. He loosed a soft growl of frustration, his hand briefly clenching into a fist. "Damn it! I just…I just got you. Let me have one night where I don’t have to worry about losing you? God knows there'll be enough of those to come." _I can't lose you, too…_

"You won't," Jonathan said gently, answering the unspoken thought. He was curious why Geoffrey was being so adamant on keeping him safe, and as he'd experienced before whenever Geoffrey would speak about more tender subjects, he could feel that heavy anxiety, a flash of fear. "Does this have something to do with Ian?" he asked quietly

Geoffrey's eyes narrowed slightly. "How is it you know that name?"

Jonathan gave him a small smile. "Sometimes I can hear your thoughts. There have been a few times I've heard you reflect on that name, even. Usually in situations like this."

Geoffrey pressed his lips into a thin line, and though he was momentarily embarrassed to know that Jonathan had caught him when he'd been feeling vulnerable, he did nod. "In part. But with everything that's happened over the past few nights, can we just not tempt Fate?" Saying his thoughts out loud, he felt incredibly foolish, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. He blamed Usher Talltree for putting such ridiculous ideas in his head in the first place, with all his talk of cards and the future and other supernatural chicanery. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but right now, I can't abide the risk and let it go. Whatever you want, I'll get it for you. Later, I'll talk about whatever's on your mind, and listen to whatever you have to say. You can explain this whole thing to me, and I'll help you solve it if I can. But this once, just trust me, walk away, and let me handle it?"

"But-"

"Jonathan…please?" Geoffrey grasped his cheeks and kissed him wantonly, letting his mental guard down and trying to communicate through the embrace how deeply he truly felt about the raven, how scared he'd been that he'd lost him, how much he wanted to be with him. He broke contact, but he remained close, still holding Jonathan's face as he let his tongue skate along his lower lip. "Promise me you'll let me handle it. Swear it."

Jonathan held Geoffrey's gaze as he licked the brunet's taste from his lip. He'd felt the unfettered emotions in the kiss, and now, he could see the anxiousness in the darker blue and knew it was borne of his feelings for him. He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily through his nose, knowing this was no different than what he'd asked of Geoffrey when he'd been treating him. He understood, because he'd been there, too. It was simple: people protect what they love. And Geoffrey had found the one way to make him comply with his request. "Damn you, McCullum," he murmured in exasperation, though there was no real malice behind it. He'd wanted to talk to Lord Redgrave himself, to impress upon him how important it was that he succeed with his mission, but he trusted that Geoffrey would get him what he needed. After a moment's pause, he nodded. "All right. I swear it," he said, both of them knowing he would not break his word.

Geoffrey visibly relaxed with the assurance, his forehead briefly touching Jonathan's before he let him go. "Thank you. You can rest in my room. I won't be that far behind you."

"Priwen Headquarters?" Jonathan gave him a very flat look. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly serious," Geoffrey replied. "It's the best place _to_ go. No one would expect to find you there, and even if they did, no one would be that foolish to dare try anything. It's safe." He would make sure that Lord Redgrave understood, in no uncertain terms, that Jonathan was off-limits to him and anyone else from the Ascalon Club.

Jonathan considered that for a moment. He was still labelled a traitor in the eyes of Ascalon, and knew they hunted him. "A fair point," he agreed. "And how do you suggest I get inside? It's not like I can just stroll through the front door and no one will notice a vampire walk in. I'm not suicidal."

" _Nahhh_!" Geoffrey replied on a drawl, and he waved a hand dismissively. "They like you, Reid."

Jonathan gave him an incredulous look. "Highly doubtful! The last time I was there - at Priwen request, I might add - one of your guards shot me!"

Geoffrey's brow went up, and then he chuckled, obviously still amused by the story. "Yeah…" His expression fell to a simple upturn of lips. "He was punished for that if it makes you feel better. But Millar knows I'm here. He saw me leave. If you talk to him, he'll help you out. And I know he likes you."

Jonathan's expression was dubious. "I'm pretty sure Sergeant Millar thinks I'm a bastard."

"Millar thinks _I'm_ a bastard, and he still likes me," Geoffrey countered.

"He's not entirely wrong," Jonathan replied, unable to keep the smirk from creeping.

"Tch." Geoffrey glared, though there was no heat behind it. "Well, I can't go to Pembroke. I'll be hard pressed not to kill Swansea on sight. _Especially_ knowing that arsehole was involved with all of this."

Jonathan arched a brow, not really that surprised that Geoffrey was aware. He really was good at what he did. Though given the raven's current mindset, he knew he'd be hard pressed right now not to let Geoffrey do it. "I need to talk to Edgar. I need to know his motivations, hear them from him myself." He glanced away. "I think he's crossed many boundaries since I turned him, and he does need to answer for them, but I still believe that right now, he is necessary. The rest of the staff see him as a pillar, and draw strength from that. Even if it's purely symbolic at this point, with all the death they deal with every day, he is the one constant they have. For their morale, he needs to remain alive."

"You put far too much value on one so worthless." Geoffrey stared hard at him, his jaw clenched tightly. It was obvious he was not pleased with that plan. He was quiet for a moment, weighing his options. Finally, he snorted in disgust. "Fine. If you go to Priwen, I won't kill him. For now. But as soon as this epidemic is over, mark my words, he's first on my list." He continued to stare at Jonathan. "Find Millar. If you can't, my windows are unlocked. You could go that way; I know you've been in my room before, so you shouldn't have any trouble getting in." He rolled his eyes. "Besides, Bates and that lot of mollycoddlers will want to know what's going on and that I've not been run through."

Pembroke or Priwen: both choices were less than ideal for different reasons, though when Jonathan weighed the pros and cons of each, Priwen seemed the least worst choice. "All right," Jonathan said with a reluctant nod. "I'll go to Priwen Headquarters." He glanced at Geoffrey and his brow furrowed. "But tomorrow, I have to go to Pembroke."

"Done." Geoffrey opened the door, though he paused when they reached the corridor. He unclasped his holster and drew the revolver. He flicked open the cylinder, replacing the three spent cartridges with fresh rounds, and then snapped it closed, offering it grip-first to Jonathan. "You know how to shoot?"

Jonathan arched a brow and smirked as he took the weapon, checked it over, and put it in his pocket. "Some," he replied smartly, thinking of the range training he'd taken when he'd enlisted, and the service revolver he'd been issued as part of his basic army kit. He was a fairly decent shot.

"Good. Any of these bastards show their face, drop them. Heart or the head. Understand?"

Jonathan nodded, unable to hide the amusement. For as much as Geoffrey bitched about how his men doted on him, he found the brunet's concern for him endearing. "I'll be fine," he said as he headed for the stairway. "Just be careful yourself. Lord Redgrave is rumoured to be quite powerful, and is alleged to have some very influential allies."

Geoffrey snorted in amusement. "Sure, he looks the part, but he's not _that_ powerful. A self-titled mutt without a proven patent of nobility." His eyes narrowed as he smirked darkly. "Scandalous."

Jonathan chuckled. "You're enjoying this far too much," he said as he headed to the main floor. "You'll have to tell me about your meeting." He stepped out onto the tiled floor, only to freeze when he heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being cocked.

_Stop, leech!_


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Added some more information to the notes section (including a link to some gorgeous artwork). Beyond that, just fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> We are getting closer to the end, I think. This chapter reflects that - we're starting to tie up some loose ends and tidy things up for our march towards the finish line. This chapter has a lot going on, but I'm always kind of meh and on the fence when I write transition chapters. I worry about them. (If you've not noticed, I ~~obsess~~ worry about a lot. **wry smile**)
> 
> There are still some issues that need resolving, and they're being addressed, but I don't want to ~~bore~~ overwhelm you, so we're breaking it up into smaller chunks. I was thinking a lot as I've been writing this story, about whether I'm doing the right thing by not always having Jonathan and Geoffrey together in the scene. And then I thought that yes, that's what I wanted to do. I mean, yes, this story is about them, and their enemies to friends to more journey, but it's also about Geoffrey's journey. How he's gone from this radical, fanatic human hell bent on eradicating vampires from existence to being one himself, and the struggles, and opening himself up, and so on. So, the tl/dr point of that is, while we do get glimpses of Jonathan doing his thing, there's definitely a heavier weight to Geoffrey's screen time. We know Jonathan's journey (even if I've bastardized it for my own purposes), but we don't know much of Geoffrey's. And he's definitely been a fun nut to crack. ~_^ Plus, I must admit that the Guard of Priwen has become something of a guilty pleasure for me...so I feel this need to play them off Geoffrey and off Jonathan, to give them some sort of an identity beyond these random guys who just shoot you, stab you, and light you on fire.
> 
> A quick note about inflation: Back in 1918, 1000 shillings (or 50 pounds) would translate to roughly 2600 pounds in 2018 money (or, about $3500USD). Not an exorbitant amount of cash, really!
> 
> Anyway, for those of you who read my inane ramblings up here, thank you for indulging me. Thank you for supporting this story. Thank you for all the lovely words you've written to me. I wish I could hug each one of you in person. But know that I'm happy to have been able to share something with you. Much love!! ♥♥

Jonathan had his back to the room, and he sighed softly as he held his hands out to the side and slowly raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. From where he stood at the top of the stairs, he could see Geoffrey partway down, the brunet's expression one of incredulity and annoyance.

"Jesus Christ," Geoffrey muttered. "Millar!" he roared. Taking the steps two at a time, he brushed past Jonathan, and stood just in front of him. He glared at the two four-man squads that had occupied a position in the entrance hallway, his eyes immediately seeking out Sergeant Millar and Sergeant Foster. "Stand down, you fucking prats!"

Millar lowered his rifle, brows going up. "Oi! McCullum, it's you!" He grinned. "Right, you heard the man. Stand down, lads."

"Of course it's me!" Geoffrey snapped. "Who else would it have been?"

"Well, this is a vampire club, innit? When we saw a blood-covered beast coming up from a dark stairway, and knew from the shape it wasn't you, we figured better safe than sorry." Millar shifted his gaze to Jonathan, who had since lowered his arms and turned around to face them. "Apologies, Doctor Reid. I didn't recognize you as you are. You usually don't look so…erm…"

"Leechy?" Foster offered.

"Yeah," Millar agreed. "That."

"Completely understandable," Jonathan said dryly, and he glanced sidelong at Geoffrey. "You might have warned me."

Geoffrey snorted. "Had I known." He saw that Millar and Foster had brought men with some experience as opposed to rookies. All carried rifles, a few had torches, and one even carried a flamethrower. "What the hell are you even doing here?" he demanded as he crossed the open space, beckoning behind him with his fingers for Jonathan to follow. "I don't recall asking for backup."

"Yeah, well…" Miller sniffed slightly as he walked forward to meet Geoffrey. "When we were assigning patrols for tonight, Captain Bates asked after you, and I told him the situation…" A smirk creeping, his gaze briefly flicked to Jonathan, and then back to Geoffrey as he licked the expression away. "Anyway, Bates said you can look after yourself and probably wouldn't want us interfering-"

"Most bloody intelligent thing he's ever said!" Geoffrey snapped.

"-But said as a precaution, we should bring a squad to keep on standby, what with you being on your own and this being a den of powerful leeches and all."

"Tch." Geoffrey shot a withering glare at Jonathan when he heard the raven quietly snicker, and then parody a cough behind a closed fist. "And I'm not?"

"You are. So, that's why we're not interfering, Sir. We're just on standby and waiting."

Geoffrey touched the tip of his tongue to the centre of his upper lip in contemplation, and then he frowned. "If you're on standby, then why are you inside?"

"Well…when we got here, the front door was open. Not usually a good sign. And we wondered what a posh vampire hideout looked like, so we came in to have a boo." Millar smirked. "We saw the bodies, figured it was your handiwork, and decided we'd just hole up here in case you needed us."

"Yeah, it's brass monkey weather out there, so no one really objected to coming inside," Foster added as he joined Millar, though after a moment, he frowned. "We were surprised we didn't have anyone come to greet us, though. Did you kill _all of them_ , Sir?"

Geoffrey shook his head. "Nah. A few of them here, a few upstairs. Then the rats caught the smell of death and took off." His eyes narrowed. "But I still need to deal with the Rat King."

"Want us to come with, Sir?" Millar asked.

"No. I have another job for you. I want you to escort him to Priwen Headquarters," Geoffrey said as he nodded his head towards Jonathan. "I need to talk to him, and Priwen's the best place right now. Let him get cleaned up and he needs to rest. He can wait in my room. I won't be long."

Miller arched a brow as he looked at Jonathan, the raven looking a lot less put together and definitely less human than he typically did. He turned his attention back to Geoffrey and nodded slowly. "Yeah, all right. I don't mind standing watch."

"Why would he need a watch? It's my room; no one goes in there."

"Not for him, Sir. For us. I mean, he's a _leech_. In the compound." Millar glanced at Jonathan and added quickly, "No offense meant, Doctor Reid."

Geoffrey gave him a very flat look. "Don't be stupid." He rolled his eyes and huffed impatiently. "If you want to stand watch, then stand watch. But anything happens to him, it's your arse on the line."

Millar glanced sidelong at Jonathan once more, a curious expression on his face as he studied him, took note of his clothes, and then he gave Geoffrey a nod. "Understood, Sir. Come on, Doctor Reid…best to get you back before the patrols start coming in."

Jonathan turned to Geoffrey, and offered him back his revolver. "If I have an escort, I won't need this. …But you might." He stared hard at the brunet until he finally reached out and took it. "…Thank you."

"Like I said, I won't be long," Geoffrey assured as he put the revolver back in its holster, his expression darkening as he thought about Lord Redgrave. _Trust me…_

Jonathan held the darker blue for another couple of seconds, and then turned away. _I do…I just don't trust them…_ "Be careful," he said quietly as he silently walked next to Millar.

Geoffrey watched after the pair until they'd headed outside, and then he turned his attention to Foster. "I have a job for you, too. You're good at tracking leeches. Take this lot with you and find me Walter Finney."

"Lord Finney?" Foster's brows went up, and then he chuckled softly, knowing that he must have done something major for McCullum to want him specifically. "Aye, I'll find him for you."

"Good. When you _do_ locate him, don't kill him. Chain him in the central courtyard. He and I need to have a word." Geoffrey's eyes narrowed, his expression glacial. "I don't care if you hurt him, but don't kill him. That pleasure is _mine_ and mine alone!"

Foster inwardly shivered under the weight of that glare - and he was glad he wasn't its intended recipient. It had always unnerved him, but it seemed even darker and more sinister now - a likely effect of Geoffrey's turning. "Very good, Sir," he said as he licked the smirk from his lips. Finney was, in a word, fucked. If he wasn't such a prick to start with, Foster would almost have felt a little bit sorry for him.

"One more thing."

"Sir?"

"Have someone go keep an eye on Pembroke. Swansea in particular. Let me know what he's been doing."

"Yes, Sir." Giving Geoffrey a respectful downward tilt of his chin, he headed back to the others, holding up his index finger and rotating it in the air as a signal to round them up. "Come on, lads!" he said, his grin widening. "We're on the hunt for an elusive leech!"

Geoffrey snorted in amusement. Foster was just a little _too_ enthusiastic about things sometimes, but he couldn't argue with the man's results. He was relentless, and really was the best scout he had. If someone needed to be found, Foster was the one to ask. Satisfied that things were moving forward, he turned towards the central staircase and headed up, ready to finish his chat with Lord Redgrave. As he entered the drawing room, he was a bit surprised to find the older Ekon exactly where he'd left him, and he laughed as he looked at the man pinned to the wall, unable to do a thing.

"You again!" Lord Redgrave hissed. "This is an outrage!"

Geoffrey shrugged, even as he continued to smirk. "Don't look so shocked. I told you I'd be back - though I'm _amazed_ that not even one leech tried to rescue you. Well, except him," he said as he gave Lord Hammersley's lifeless body a slight kick with the side of his boot. "Guess their loyalty to you doesn't run as deep as you thought, yeah?" He chuckled. "Though you have to admit, this would make a _great_ photograph for the club yearbook - the Chairman, showing his full power against his enemies."

Lord Redgrave glared. "If you could curb your amusement for a moment and make your point, hunter."

"Hn…" Geoffrey's smirk widened and turned decidedly arrogant as he crossed the room. "So, you're willing to have a chat after all! I like that." He grabbed the two crossbow bolts in his hands and twisted. The one in Lord Redgrave's left shoulder came free, pulling a pained growl from the man, but the one in the right wouldn't budge. Geoffrey's eyes flicked down to the bolt in his hand, and he studied the blood for a moment before he curled his tongue around the side of the shaft, giving a brief suck to taste it. He closed his eyes for a second and inhaled slowly through his nose, then blinked his eyes open and snorted disdainfully as he dropped it on the floor. He licked his lower lip and said, "Vampire blood's always good, but there's nothing great about yours. Right." He grabbed Lord Redgrave by the front of his suit jacket, and putting one boot up against the panelling, he yanked hard, pulling the bolt straight through the man's shoulder and tearing muscle and cartilage in the process.

Lord Redgrave let out a horrific shout as the joint was essentially ripped apart, his upper lip drawn back in a pained grimace as he clutched to the profusely bleeding wound and glowered at Geoffrey. "You're an ill-bred savage!" he growled.

Geoffrey was unfazed by the insult, and gave a blasé shrug as he grasped the bolt and wiggled it free from the mahogany. "You'll heal that fast enough; quit being an infant. Though I thought you wanted down?" he asked. "My mistake. Next time, I'll leave you there and let one of your people handle it." He glanced around, as if looking for _anyone_ , and then flashed a dark grin. "No one? Aww, bloody shame…" Again, he licked the shaft of the bolt and then pointed towards the desk chair with it. "Sit."

"I'd rather stand," Lord Redgrave replied stubbornly.

Again, Geoffrey shrugged. "Suit yourself. I thought with the blood loss, you might want to, but you're not hurting me any." He ran his tongue along his upper teeth. "Though try to run, and I'll kill you. You know I'm a good shot."

Lord Redgrave continued to stare at Geoffrey for several moments, his attention drifting to Lord Hammersley's body with the warning. Finally, with a moue of disgust, he sat down in the leather Chesterfield directors chair, trying to hide the sigh of relief as he relaxed against it. "What do you wish to talk about?"

"Oh, I have a few questions I need answered," Geoffrey said offhandedly. "Like, how many vampires did you make with Reid's blood?"

Lord Redgrave arched a brow. "Oh. Now why would a dog like you even care about something like that?" he drawled. "I wouldn't expect you to understand Ekon politics."

"Hm. I understand your _politics_ just fine. Don't mistake my indifference for ignorance. I really couldn't care less about your dealings and plots. It's more the fact that he told you no."

"He shouldn't worry about his bloodline. Those chosen were of good stock."

"He doesn't. He made me, didn't he?" Geoffrey laughed. "Nah, it's not about you putting a mark on his lineage. It's about rich arseholes who don't deserve it stealing their immortality. From him. So, how many?" His expression turned serious and he narrowed his eyes. "Speak! I won't ask a third time!"

"I will not condemn them to a death sentence."

Geoffrey arched a brow. "I'm impressed," he said, nodding as he drew his revolver. "You would trade your own life for theirs. A very noble gesture. First one I've seen from you." He cocked the hammer back. "Too bad they didn't come to your defense quite as readily, eh?" He shot the older man in his still-healing shoulder, smirking darkly when Lord Redgrave gritted his teeth and growled in pain as the phosphorous burned deep in his flesh. "Doesn't matter. As soon as I find your library, I'll find your registry of members. I'm sure they've all signed it. Places like this, they _love_ their tradition and ceremony. I'm betting that's what all the champagne glasses and bottles down in the cellar were from. I'll just start picking off leeches one by one until I've killed them all." He took aim at Lord Redgrave's heart. "Starting with you."

"Wait!" When Geoffrey merely stared at him expectantly, Lord Redgrave clenched his jaw. "Two. We made two."

"Names?"

Lord Redgrave's eyes widened. "I can't tell you that! I-"

Geoffrey shot him in the other shoulder. "Names!" he barked, and he pointed the revolver at the older man's face.

" _God_!…Aloysius Dawson and James Hurst! But you'll never get to them!" Lord Redgrave was starting to learn, very painfully, that Geoffrey McCullum was not a man to toy with. He did not make idle threats, and was brutally sadistic and coldly efficient when it came to emphasizing his point. Lord Redgrave believed his turning had only made him more dangerous, and he decided in that moment that he really did _not_ want him as an enemy.

Geoffrey snorted as he lowered the weapon. "You let me worry about that, hm? You'll find I'm pretty resourceful." He studied Lord Redgrave for a few moments, and then said, "One other thing, and this isn't a request. You take Reid off your list. I don't give a damn that you've kicked him out, and I’m sure he doesn't care if he's not a member, but you stop hunting him. He's off limits to you. To _all_ of you. Anyone who doesn't comply, they go on _my_ list."

Lord Redgrave managed to pull the bullet from his right shoulder. Given the damage that had still been there, it had been fairly easy to find. He set the round in a brass ashtray on his desk, and licked the tips of his fingers before taking up the soiled silk pocket square and wiping his hand on it. "As I told Doctor Reid last night, I did not want us to be enemies in the first place. This epidemic has been disastrous for us. Those vulgar skals crawling out of the sewers to pollute the streets, killing indiscriminately - we were being slaughtered along with them as part of your Great Hunt! We found ourselves at war. Desperation makes it easier to commit more _unsavoury_ acts."

Geoffrey arched a brow as he listened to Lord Redgrave, and then he snorted. "Don't hand me that shit. You're not so innocent yourselves. We know that you've been hosting a lot of the foreign leeches that have been flocking to London to take advantage of the epidemic. What better way to murder innocent humans than to hide in plain sight, blame the skals and the epidemic?" He smirked. "You're right that these diseased skals need to go, but don't try to play the victim. You've had your part in all of it, too."

"The members of Ascalon just want to see this epidemic stopped. We exist to keep England safe from her enemies. We have our interests in the West End that need protecting."

Geoffrey snorted humourlessly. "It's more about keeping yourselves comfortable than saving England as a whole. But fair enough; we want the same ends." He studied the older man in front of him. "Reid says he can stop this."

"Really? That's good." Lord Redgrave sighed softly in relief as he got the other round from his shoulder. "What is his plan?"

"I don't know yet. Since you took him, it's not like there's been time for a cuppa and a chat now, yeah? But it must be something big if he says he needs your help to do it."

"Well, what does he require? I'd be willing to put aside our differences to see this epidemic stopped."

Geoffrey met the pale grey. "He needs some of William Marshall's blood. And I told him I'd get it."

"The blood of my Maker?" Lord Redgrave snorted. "Out of the question!"

Geoffrey rolled his eyes contemptuously. "If these gits all believe you're Marshall's progeny, carry on with the ruse. But we both know he is not your Maker."

Lord Redgrave's jaw worked silently for a moment. "All right. I can spare him _one_ drop; no more. I've already handed out more than I should have."

Geoffrey gave him a suspicious look. "What do you mean by that?"

Lord Redgrave studied Geoffrey. "I told you before, friendship is only as strong as the temptations one can resist. If Doctor Reid wants William Marshall's blood, he need only look close to home. Doctor Swansea traded him for three drops, which were paid in full."

Geoffrey's eyes went wide when he heard that, and then he exploded in anger. "Are you insane?" he hissed, eyes narrowing to cold slits. "Swansea was the one who started this bloody epidemic in the first place by experimenting with vampire blood on humans! And then you go and give him _Marshall's_?"

Lord Redgrave arched a brow, obviously surprised by the revelation. "Hm. How odd. He didn't mention that detail when we talked. He merely said it would be the centrepiece of his collection. I've always known Edgar Swansea to be something of an eccentric, a man with a somewhat morbid fascination about vampires, so I'd assumed he was just interested in a rare curio." He gave an indifferent shrug. "If you feel he should not have it, I would certainly not object to you relieving him of it."

Geoffrey studied the older man in silence for a few moments. "You would sell out one of your own? That's treacherous."

"Really?" Lord Redgrave said as he got to his feet and carefully made his way to a locked cabinet. Inside was a small apothecary bottle containing William Marshall's blood. It was kept under lock and key except for ceremonies when it was moved to the large decorative urn in the library. As he carefully transferred a single drop into an aliquot vial, he said coolly, "Doctor Swansea means nothing to me. He is a disappointingly mediocre Ekon from a strong bloodline, nothing more. His fate is inconsequential; I owe him nothing." 

The corners of Geoffrey's lips turned upwards. "Oh…so you're _not_ going to be offering him membership?" he quipped.

Lord Redgrave frowned. "No," he replied acerbically. He held the vial in his closed fist, but didn't hand it over just yet. "From where I stand, Doctor Swansea was the one who compromised his loyalty. Not me. And I'm sure in due course, he will answer for that in some measure." He glanced at his ruined jacket, and after sighing softly, he held the vial on his upturned palm in offering. "Am I correct in assuming that?"

Geoffrey took the vial, and gave a downward tilt of his chin in thanks as his smirk widened. "Yeah. He'll answer. But don't think it's because you handed this over. This is for Reid, not me. Swansea's Judgement Day has been a long time coming." His expression turned cold. "And some things just can't be forgiven."

Lord Redgrave offered a tart smirk. He suspected that Geoffrey would be even less sparing with Edgar Swansea than he had been with him. While he would not apologize for willingly exploiting Edgar's weakness to achieve his own ends, and would likely do it again if it served his purposes, he had also been surprised that he'd managed to come to an arrangement so easily. It did speak volumes about Edgar's character, and Lord Redgrave did believe that such a personal betrayal was deserving of punishment. He would not shed a tear over whatever Geoffrey decided to do; Edgar had earned his suffering for his disloyalty. "I wish Doctor Reid success in his quest. And I hope that the Guard of Priwen will remember this in the future, that the Ascalon Club did render assistance in England's hour of need. We do, after all, have a common goal."

Geoffrey arched a brow. "Ah. The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

"Yes. Something like that," Lord Redgrave replied.

"Hm. Too bad we're not friends," Geoffrey said after a moment. "Though under the right circumstances, I'd be willing to turn a blind eye to you trying to play human and let Ascalon carry on with its politics and intrigues."

"I see. And what _circumstances_ might those be?" Lord Redgrave asked suspiciously.

"Hunting leeches is a costly venture. Priwen has expenses, and could really benefit from a rich sponsor organization to offset some of them." He narrowed his gaze as a smirk threatened. "We're not selfish. We just want a small bite from the apple. I'd say…a thousand shillings a month from the club for the next…hm, ten years would be a reasonable stipend for the inconvenience of us having to watch over you."

Lord Redgrave scowled. "That's extortion."

"Yes. It is." Geoffrey's smirk morphed into a cocky grin. "Or, consider it more like a life assurance policy, like the ones all the humans have, if it makes you feel better about it. The terms are simple. So long as you and the others behave, don't call attention to yourselves, we pretend that you don't exist, and you continue to live on as happy little leeches, playing cards and holding black tie galas."

"Do you really think I'll cede to your demands, hunter? Debase the noble Ascalon Club in that manner to support a troupe of thugs and hooligans?"

Geoffrey shrugged and shook his head. "No. I'm not entirely sure which way you're leaning, and to be honest, I'm sort of ambivalent to it either way," he replied matter-of-factly. "I figure you'll agree, and the Guard will be set for a few years with not having to worry about food, shelter and supplies. Or, alternatively, you'll stand your ground to oppose me, and I'll gladly kill the lot of you, take what I want from you anyway, and then burn this place to its foundation. And there will be that many less of you in the world. Either way, I like the outcome."

"You're delusional! Are you really willing to wage war against the Ascalon Club?"

Geoffrey snorted softly. "I waged war against you when I was a human. Do you think that now, because I'm a vampire, that makes me more afraid of you? Now who's delusional?" He let his gaze rake over Lord Redgrave's form, at the shambles he was currently in. "My purpose in life is to exterminate leeches. Hell, part of me still wants to just say _fuck it_ and end you because I want you to suffer for what you did, and because I'd enjoy it immensely. But I'm also smart enough to take advantage of an opportunity presented, so you're still alive for no other reason than I'm letting it happen. This is the amount of mercy I'm prepared to show to Ascalon. Take it or leave it."

"I despise you," Lord Redgrave said with a sneer. "But you leave us with little choice. I will do as you ask. For now."

"The feeling is mutual," Geoffrey replied. "Cross me, and I will wipe every last one of you from existence. When I'm done, Ascalon will be nothing but a distant memory - a footnote in one of the Brotherhood's obscure books, and that's all." With that, he turned and left the room, anxious to leave that place and get back to Priwen Headquarters. "When the epidemic's over, I'll be in touch."

* * *

Jonathan was quiet as he and Millar walked along the streets, heading back to Priwen Headquarters. The first few blocks passed in silence, though Jonathan kept catching the other stealing discreet glances at him, and he had to smirk a little. He supposed it was an odd situation for the sergeant; he knew he felt a bit awkward himself despite Geoffrey's assurances. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience," he said after a while. "I'm doing all right; I can see myself along if there are other things you need to do."

Millar arched a brow, and then he snorted in amusement. "Funny," he replied. "McCullum would hand me my arse if I did that." He turned slightly to give a more appraising look to Jonathan. "Yeah, you're a tough leech for sure, but no offense, Doctor Reid, even I can tell you're not all right." He chuckled. "The patrols might have a chance if they chased you tonight." He studied the raven for a moment, and then nodded. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"Excuse me?" Jonathan replied, obviously confused by the question.

"A few nights back when the patrols found McCullum in that courtyard. They said they'd chased a vampire and lost it. I'm betting it was you. Makes sense that you'd have been with him." His brows went up when he saw Jonathan's posture tense slightly, and he found the reaction curious. "Hn. What'd you do that he turned you in?"

"Nothing. We'd been talking, mostly." Jonathan flushed slightly as he thought about that evening, and Geoffrey's stolen kiss. Hastily, he cleared his throat. "Before that, we had come across a couple of women that had been attacked by skals, and he fought them. He was unarmed. It was impressive to witness."

"Yeah, I'd bet. He was always aces on a hunt, betting even more so now." He gave Jonathan another curious look. "So, _talking_ , eh?"

"Mostly," Jonathan answered, keeping his gaze deliberately forward though he could feel Millar watching him. "I'd said some things I don't think he cared for, and when the patrol came by, it was an opportunity to get rid of me."

"Hm. Must not have pissed him off that bad since he went after you tonight." Again, he snorted in amusement. "Never thought I'd live to see the day that Geoffrey McCullum actually tried to _save_ a leech. But then, you're not like any other vampire I've ever met before, either."

"I'm…not really sure how to respond to that, Sergeant Millar," Jonathan said with a small smile.

"It's not a bad thing, Doctor Reid." Millar shrugged. "I mean, for one thing, you're not all that intimidating. Other leeches, I face off against them, and my heart beats a little faster. I guess mine did the first night I saw you, not knowing what you were all about and such, like always. But now that I've spoken to you a few times, I'm not afraid of you at all."

"That's good," Jonathan replied. "I'd prefer it if you weren't. I really do mean you no harm."

"Yeah. But you're still fucking eerie; your kind just has that way about it, though."

"Oh?"

"Aye. The way you move, the way you look…and then the whole blood thing, that's just off-putting as hell." Miller wouldn't admit to it, but for as creepy as he found it, he had a bit of a morbid fascination with it, too. Questions mostly, about the experience, to aid in understanding - and not too many of Priwen's texts really gave much detail.

"I…didn't think my appearance was that obvious. Most people don't seem to notice."

Millar chuckled. "We're trained to notice. It's why we're good at our jobs." He glanced sidelong at Jonathan. "You know that with you, that's what it is, yeah?" He saw Jonathan's brow furrow, and the corners of Millar's mouth briefly quirked upwards before falling. "Just a job. Sure, some leeches are right bastards and deserve everything they get, but I don't think you're a bad man, and I don't hate you, either. It's why I came to you for help in the first place." His eyes narrowed a little. "Granted, I didn't think you were going to turn McCullum into a sodding vampire when we gave him to you, but he told us why you did. Said you couldn't heal him, said if he'd died, he'd have turned into one of those fucking skals." He made a disgusted face. "That would have been the ultimate insult, to see him reduced to that."

"I didn't want to turn him. It was the least worst option," Jonathan said.

"Yeah, well…" Millar sniffed slightly. "Not sure how leeches organize themselves and all, but at least you seem to worry about what happens to him. He doesn't much care for being fussed over, but he needs it. And with you being his family now…" He smirked. "Guess that makes you doubly off-limits to us now, eh?"

Jonathan offered a small smile. "I'd say it depends on my actions."

"Yeah, point," Millar conceded as a troubled look passed across his face. He remembered Geoffrey's directive to them all should he step out of line, and he supposed such a warning had been extended to Jonathan as well. _I couldn't kill him, even under orders…_

Jonathan glanced sidelong at Millar when he heard the man's thoughts. He wasn't surprised that Geoffrey would have put such a condition on his men as a last-resort contingency plan. He also wasn't surprised that his men would refuse to obey. He turned his attention forward again, and an awkward silence descended.

 _I wonder if he drank McCullum's blood…_ Millar pondered as he stole another look at Jonathan. Despite what Hughes maintained, Millar didn't think vampires were hideous beasts. Not all of them, anyway. He believed the transformation augmented what was already there. Those who had been attractive as mortals became almost scarily so, and those who had been ugly became positively repulsive. Jonathan was a handsome man, he thought, and embarrassed for thinking it, he quickly glanced away. His thoughts then turned to Geoffrey, and he smiled a little as a bit of heat crept into his cheeks. Geoffrey had definitely benefitted from becoming a vampire, and Millar was mortified that as of late, he found himself staring at his features, unable to look away if he happened to catch his gaze. _Ah…that'd be his leech powers,_ he thought after a moment, and then his eyes widened slightly as he thought about Geoffrey's turning. He'd never seen it happen, but he knew the mechanics of what went on. _Throat?_ he speculated, his mind unhelpfully supplying an image of Geoffrey licking Jonathan's neck. "Ah, Christ," he muttered, and mentally, he began going through the process of field stripping his rifle to distract himself.

Jonathan had turned his head slightly to look at Millar when he'd heard his musing, and as the other man had gone on, his awkwardness over inadvertently eavesdropping quickly turned to amusement. Lips pressed together to hide the smirk, he tilted his head down slightly and shifted his glance away, a soft chuckle following with the murmured expletive. "Everything okay?" he asked with a none-too-innocent grin.

"What?" Millar paled when he saw the way Jonathan was looking at him, and he quickly nodded. "Yeah, erm…" He cleared his throat. "Should only be a few guards home. Let me go first, okay?" Not waiting for Jonathan, Millar entered the building and headed upstairs, pausing to talk to the guard on lookout at the window. After warning him to stand down, he beckoned Jonathan to follow, and then the pair made their way along the corridor to Geoffrey's room. Millar let the raven inside, and then followed, closing the door behind him. "So, um…I'll get some water for you to wash up, unless you prefer a bath?" When Jonathan shook his head, he nodded and crossed over to the wash table to retrieve the pitcher. He studied the raven for a couple of moments, thinking about him and Geoffrey, and then, without another word, he left the room.

Once alone, Jonathan looked around the space. It was very utilitarian. The décor austere. To him, it looked very much like a prison cell, but without bars or locks. The bed was comfortable enough to provide decent rest, but the frame was built to be functional, not attractive. The wash table was made from simple pine board with an enameled metal basin on top. A large steamer trunk sat on the floor, and there was a single bookcase full of various reference books and a few personal journals. He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes. His coat and jacket were next, carefully folded and placed on top of the trunk, and then he took the pocket watch from his vest and nestled it into the bundle of cloth. His vest followed, the bloody garment loosely folded and finding its own pile. Finally, he untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, but left it on for the time being. Turning up the brass gaslight sconce just a little bit, he then went over to the mirror and looked at himself. Millar had been right - he did look pretty bad. There was a sharp rap at the door, and Jonathan turned when it opened.

"I got some hot water and a towel for you. Oh, uh…" Millar trailed off, and glanced slightly off to the side when he saw Jonathan standing there, shirt open, and he stood by his earlier assessment that the man was quite pleasing to look at. "Here."

"Thank you, Sergeant Millar," Jonathan said as he took the pitcher with a small smile, and then the towel and flannel that Millar had draped over his forearm.

"And I brought you a shirt," Millar said as he held out the dark grey fabric that was clenched in his fist, and he nodded his head towards the raven. "That one's pretty much fucked, innit?"

"I'm afraid so," Jonathan agreed, and his smile widened as he took the rumpled garment. "Again, thank you. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, all right," Millar said, feeling his ears heating when Jonathan's fingers brushed against his. He was quiet while Jonathan removed his ruined shirt, and his gaze briefly flicked over Jonathan's body. The raven cut a nice figure: lean and sinewy with hardly any scars. He was more slender than Geoffrey, but there was still a strength about him, and he didn't mind the peek he'd been given. His ears pinked further, and he glanced away, telling himself it had been a purely clinical look - for comparative purposes, to observe different leech physiology, and to assess the situation. Millar couldn't really see any injuries remaining on Jonathan, but from the amount of blood he'd observed on his clothes, and still on his body, he knew he had been in a bad way at one point. "You don't have to say if you'd rather not, but what'd they do to you there anyway?"

Jonathan went to the wash stand and hung the towel over the rack, and then draped the clean shirt over the side support. He poured some water into the basin, and put his hands into it, watching the pink swirls eddy through the clean water before he picked up the soap. "I don't mind you asking," he said quietly as he began to wash his hands. "They drugged me and chained me. Took my blood. Bled me to keep me weak and to try to starve me."

Millar took a half step back and cocked his head to the side. "Are you still? Weak, yes, but starving, I mean?"

Jonathan paused. "No. I've…had a bite since."

Millar's eyes widened, and then he made a face. "Bloody hell, another leech comedian."

Jonathan smiled as he turned to glance over his shoulder at Millar, his eyes glinting impishly. "My apologies. It's under control right now, thank you."

"Yeah well, if it gets to not be, don't start looking me over! I'll get you some hopeless rookie instead."

Jonathan chuckled. "I promise I won't. Though a Priwen rookie is a tempting offer…" He offered a deliberately sharklike grin, fangs prominently on display, to show he was teasing. Not sure if Millar had found it as funny as he had, he sobered and wet the flannel so he could return to his task, now focusing on scrubbing the dried blood from his forearms. The marks from the shackles were practically gone, but he could still feel where Geoffrey had kissed him.

Millar watched him for another couple of moments, and then, after a brief hesitation, turned his back to Jonathan to afford him a modicum of privacy. He figured if Geoffrey trusted him, he probably could, too. "McCullum was mad when he found out what had happened, but Jesus, now I get why he was so pissed off." He smirked. "Did you see the corpses on the way out? He wasn't fucking around when he got there. I mean-"

"Millar, what the complete hell are you doing in here? I-" Geoffrey asked as he came into the room. He was momentarily distracted by the sight of Jonathan's shirtless body, but he forced his attention back to his sergeant, eyes narrowing. "I thought I told you he was to rest."

"Well, yeah, you did. But you also said to let him get cleaned up, and we hadn't got past that part yet. It took a minute for the water to get warm, and I had to find clothes that'd fit - he couldn't very well walk around in what he had on now, could he? So, he's taking care of what needs doing, and I'm just waiting to take the dirty bits away so he _can_ rest!"

Geoffrey snarled at Millar in frustration, baring his fangs at him. "He doesn’t need a bloody chaperone while he does it! For Christ's sake, get the hell out; I'm sure he'll manage just fine without you being _right there_ , prattling on. Besides, I've got something for you to do. Hughes is in the garden, doing some testing."

Millar arched an intrigued brow. "What's he working on?"

"I've got him trying out some portable ultraviolet lights."

Millar's brow went higher. "Do you have something in mind for us to test them _on_?"

A slow smile curved Geoffrey's lips upwards as he thought about Foster's _acquisition_. "Mmhmm. I'd say so."

Millar chuckled. "…Yeah, all right then." He turned to Jonathan. "Sorry, Doctor Reid, duty calls. But I'll be back to clean up later, eh? I just-"

"Go!" Geoffrey interjected, and practically shoved Millar out the door. "Uh…" He scrubbed a hand awkwardly through his hair, though his gaze lingered on Jonathan for a moment. "I'll just…come back in a bit." He offered a crooked smirk, and then he turned and closed the door.

Jonathan had to laugh to himself as he finished washing his top half, put on the fresh shirt, and then turned his attention to the bottom. It had been an interesting experience, having Millar there with him, but not really all that unusual for him. He was used to having other people around when he washed from his time in the army, and he supposed that for a lot of the guards, it was a similar situation for them, as well. Though from the conversation he'd had with the sergeant, he'd admit that Geoffrey had been right - Millar did like them both! Chuckling softly, he was able to quickly tend to his ablutions now that he was alone, and a few minutes later, he was finished and dressed. He sat on the edge of Geoffrey's bed, but he didn't lie down. He felt fatigued, but he wasn't sleepy. Truth told, he was more hungry than anything. And anxious - now that he wasn't chained in the cellar, he'd been thinking a lot about the epidemic, and the role he had to play in ending it. And of course, his mind often strayed to Edgar, wondering what had happened with that. And Geoffrey. He no longer bore the marks, but mentally, he could still feel each one very vividly, and it was a rather pleasant memory. He wondered what would happen with both of them once this was over.

"By the Lord Almighty," Geoffrey said heatedly as he came back into his room and closed the door behind him with a bit more force than was necessary. "It's like dealing with a pack of bloody halfwits some days!" he grumbled. "Between fussing over me when they saw my clothes, and then asking questions about you when I enquired about a damned pair of trousers…" A snort followed as he dropped a pair of black cotton pants next to the raven. He'd been concerned about the length, since Jonathan was tall, like he was. That, in turn, had led to Jackson dryly suggesting he offer a pair of his own if he was that worried about it, and Bates innocently asking, _Are you sure Reid could get into McCullum's trousers?_ Jackson and Cox had looked at each other and then burst out laughing, Geoffrey irritably telling them all to get fucked as he'd left the room. "If they're too short, just bloody deal with it until tomorrow."

Jonathan gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you. I'm sure they'll do just fine." While his suit trousers weren't that bad off, he was glad to have something fresh to put on.

Leaving Jonathan to change, Geoffrey shrugged out of his trench coat and hung it on the peg on the back of his door, and then stripped off his vest and shirt, the latter stained with blood from his assault on Ascalon - and Jonathan's assault on his throat and shoulder. He took the basin of grey water and dumped it out the window into the rain gutters, and then returned to the wash table, pouring what remained from the pitcher into the wash pan, and cleaning the blood from his face, chest and arms. Geoffrey put on a clean shirt and had just finished buttoning it before he turned to Jonathan and looked him over with a smirk. "Black and grey suit you," he remarked, noting the length was more than acceptable.

Jonathan chuckled softly. "Thank you. I've never really had an eye for fashion. My sister was the one who would suggest things, or I'd rely on the recommendations of the tailor." He was quiet for a moment, and then he asked, "Can we talk now?"

"Aye."

Jonathan looked around the space, and then he glanced at the window. "I need some air." Grabbing his shoes, he stood on the windowsill, and with a wisp of black smoke, he disappeared.

Geoffrey blinked in surprise, but after a moment, he smiled and went to the window, joining Jonathan on the roof in time to see the other tying his laces. He sat down on the tiles next to him. "Tell me about this plan of yours."

"My Maker created me with one purpose in mind: to serve as his Champion to stop this Disaster that threatens England. If I manage that, I'll end this vampire epidemic, and this country can start to heal. I finally found the carrier, the source of the infection: a woman named Harriet Jones. I believe that she is the key, and when I find her, I will destroy her." Jonathan's brow furrowed. "But I need to protect myself from the poison she carries within her. I found a way - I figured out the clues. The blood of a knight, and the blood of a king. Who else but William Marshall and King Arthur?" He looked imploringly at the brunet. "I need some of Arthur's blood, Geoffrey."

Geoffrey gave him a very flat look. "I see. Marshall's cure." Geoffrey exhaled heavily through his nose and then turned his gaze forward to look out into the night, watching the plumes of smoke billow from the different chimneys in the neighbourhood. "Ian was my older brother," he said after a while.

"Pardon?" Jonathan arched a brow at the sudden subject change.

"He was ten years older than me." A softness briefly settled in his eyes. "I wanted to be like him."

Jonathan's expression gentled. Despite the urgency of his project, he went with it. For whatever reason, Geoffrey had shifted to something much more personal, obviously needing to share, and he wasn't about to trivialize that. "Was?"

Geoffrey nodded. "Yeah." He frowned, his thoughts drifting to his past. "When I was eight years old, my parents…my father was killed by a vampire, became one himself. One night he came home, and like a beast tore out my mother's throat. Would have mine as well if Carl Eldritch hadn't been there to stop him. Killed him in front of me. Ian, he…I don't know if it was my Da, or another leech, but we learned he was turned, too. Carl raised me, trained me, helped me hunt Ian down." He glanced sidelong at Jonathan. "I saw him a few times on my own. I begged Ian to run, to just leave, but he wouldn't. I was twelve when Priwen finally caught him. Ian was my first kill." He looked back out into the night. "I think it was a different vampire that made him. Ian was never out of control like my father was. He was more like…you. Fairly quiet, didn't want to hurt people. But the beast still raged inside of him. One day, it was too much for him to hold back. The Guard caught him under a bridge, feeding off an old beggar. I still remember his face when I shot him in the heart." Geoffrey's lips pressed into a thin line as he recalled Ian's tears, the way he'd pled with him, chained and on his knees. "Suffice it to say, I have a pretty good reason for hating leeches as much as I do. Especially when they continue to prove themselves lying, deceitful, treacherous devils."

Jonathan's eyes were troubled as he listened to the brunet's story. "I'm so sorry, Geoffrey. I can't even imagine what that must have been like for you. And then, what I did to you…"

"Stop," Geoffrey said warningly. "I didn't tell you this so you could pity me. I was lucky in some ways. I still had a family in Carl. In the Guard. I didn't just accept my fate and hope to survive. I learned to fight and be strong. I never let what I hated beat me, I faced it head on. And for a long time, I was good with that." He glanced at Jonathan. "The point is, things change. In all my years, you're the first leech I've met that I've not wanted to kill on sight, that has _anything_ redeeming about him. As for you _condemning_ me to this, my unfortunate family legacy, I'm…grateful. You could have taken the easy way and just let me die, but you fought harder to save me than anyone, even knowing I could end you at any time. I'm actually…surprisingly good with it now. Which means every other bloody vampire in England has a new reason to be afraid of the dark." He licked his lower lip. "I'll give you what you asked for. I'll help you prepare. I wish I could fight with you - by God, that would be something spectacular to see - but this isn't my crusade."

"Thank you, Geoffrey." Jonathan smiled softly. "Though, I still need William Marshall's blood for it to work."

Geoffrey smirked as he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out the aliquot vial. "I said I'd get it, didn't I?" he replied arrogantly as he handed it to the raven.

"I'm impressed," Jonathan said with a chuckle as he took it with a nod of thanks. "How did you convince Lord Redgrave to assist me?"

Geoffrey's smirk widened. "Well, I can be _persuasive_ when I need to be. I even managed to convince him that Ascalon should bankroll some of Priwen's expenses for the next decade."

Jonathan's brows went up. "I can't believe you extorted Lord Redgrave and aren't worried about repercussions."

"What's he going to do? Glare at me? I'm not worried about repercussions from a man who lacks the fighting prowess to back up his claimed lineage." Geoffrey laughed, and then sobered. "Truthfully, I think he was agreeable because he wants an end to this, too. And because I put one too many holes in his fancy jacket." He shrugged. "Lord Redgrave isn't a threat. When I confronted him, he did nothing. Those who support him are the bigger concern, and even at that, they run when cornered." He smirked arrogantly. Foster had found Finney - and Hughes and Millar were dealing with him at present.

"Well, if everything goes according to plan, this will be over soon. I have a good idea where I might find Harriet Jones, so tomorrow night, I'll return to my office and prepare the antidote." Jonathan arched a brow when he saw the way Geoffrey's entire demeanour shifted and his expression darkened. "What?"

"Don't share your plan with Swansea. In fact, stay away from that bastard completely." The corners of Geoffrey's mouth turned down further. "Lord Redgrave was only too happy to tell me about Swansea, and their arrangement. He traded you for three drops of William Marshall's blood."

"What?" Jonathan gaped in disbelief. The betrayal cut very deeply, but he was more shocked to learn what Edgar had been given. "Does Lord Redgrave know what he's done? The dangerous power he's just given to Edgar? We must get that away from him as soon as possible!"

"He does now. And I agree." Geoffrey levelled a stare at Jonathan. "Tomorrow, I'm going to get it away from him. You've got enough to worry about without his shenanigans distracting you, and I needed something to do anyway." He already had Foster tracking down Dawson and Hurst; he had no interest in toying with them and they'd be dispensed quickly when he came calling. Finney would be diverting, but not for the entire evening. "Don't worry. I won't kill him," Geoffrey said cavalierly. "I'm just going to ask him to hand it over."

Despite the gravity of it all, Jonathan couldn't keep the corners of his lips from briefly turning up with the cocky reassurance. He knew that Geoffrey was planning to do more than simply 'ask', which meant that the conversation would quickly become very unpleasant for Edgar if he refused to comply. His brow furrowed, and he sighed softly. "I know what Edgar received as compensation, but I still don't understand why he would do that. Or who approached whom. When this is over, I need to speak to him."

Geoffrey snorted derisively. "And you expect him to tell you the truth when he's lied about everything else?" His expression was one of utter contempt. "If you want to talk to him, do it, but it'll be a great waste of time. I'm sure he'll give you some bullshit reason that you'll find incredibly unsatisfying."

"Likely," Jonathan agreed, and his eyes narrowed. "But I want him to look me in the eye when he tells me. I want to hear his beautiful lies before I expose the ugly truth."

Geoffrey arched a brow as he watched that flicker of darkness roil through Jonathan's gaze, and a small, private smile turned the corners of his mouth up. It was the look of a predator on the hunt, and whenever Geoffrey saw it on the raven, it always sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He chuckled softly. "He's stupid to try. And he deserves what he gets." His eyes fell half closed in a moment of quiet fantasy. As much as he longed to kill Edgar himself, seeing Jonathan do it would be even more satisfying. He let out a soft, hungry murmur, and then snorted softly in amusement. "Anyway, I should get that blood for you. Can it go in the same bottle, or separate?"

"The same should be all right." Jonathan handed him the small vial.

Geoffrey frowned as he took it back. "You're not coming with me?"

Jonathan sat stone still for a few seconds, and then lashed out and snatched a rat that had been scuttling along. "In a few minutes. I'm…" He cleared his throat. "I'm hungry."

"Hn." Geoffrey pushed the bottle into his pocket, and then leaned over and took the rat from the raven. He looked disdainfully at it, and then met Jonathan's eyes. "Or, you could just have me."

"What?"

Geoffrey chuckled and held out his wrist in offering.

Jonathan's eyes widened. "I can't do that!"

Geoffrey's grin widened. "Why not?"

"Well, because…because I - I don't really have a good reason," Jonathan stammered.

"I know you like it. And I'm better for you than a poxy rat."

Jonathan felt his cheeks warm. He more than _liked it_. "Erm…y-yes, but that's not the point." His gaze flicked briefly over to the rat, and then back to Geoffrey's arm. "I don't expect you to sustain me."

"There's a difference between expectation and offering. Besides, as the Champion of England, you can't go around living entirely off rats. I know you don't want to kill a human, and I'm not going to let you even think about it. So, this is something I can do for you." He shrugged as he lightly petted along the rat's belly with his thumb. "Maybe I kind of like it, too."

Jonathan smiled softly at the odd, yet compelling, logic. It widened with the implied meaning buried in Geoffrey's last. "You're an enabler, fuelling my addiction for you." He put a hand on Geoffrey's cheek as he looked into the brunet's eyes. "What are you going to do when the day comes where I can't stop myself?" he asked on a dark murmur, and he peered through his brows at the other, a dangerous smile on his lips. He dropped his hand away and grasped Geoffrey's wrist, his fingers lightly caressing the skin there.

"Yeah, guilty," Geoffrey admitted with a pert grin, not bothering to mention that addiction could run in both directions. "Besides, who said anything about stopping?" Geoffrey asked cockily, and narrowing his gaze, he flashed a cheeky smirk at the same time as he held up the rat. "Eh? Me or him?"

Jonathan shivered as he let his tongue lightly skim along his upper teeth. There really was no choice. There was only one thing he truly hungered for. "Come here, devil, and tempt me," he murmured as he bit into his flesh, his eyes falling closed as he drank. He could feel Geoffrey's strength through the blood, and when he felt that spark jolt through his body, it in turn strengthened him. He felt the energy coursing through him, igniting every nerve ending, but more than that, he felt the waves of pleasure, that euphoric ecstasy that was always most intense when he was with Geoffrey.

Geoffrey grinned darkly when he heard the quiet words, his eyes first widening, and then falling half closed when Jonathan's fangs bit and he felt pain then pleasure. A low, contented purr sounded deep in his throat as he carelessly threw the rat off the roof and shifted his position just a little closer. As Jonathan fed from him, Geoffrey could again feel the raven's aura, feel the power he possessed, and it sent a very delicious shiver through his body. He let Jonathan drink for a few moments longer, and then he pulled his arm free, covering the wound with his own mouth to lick away the residual before it healed over, eyes locked on the raven.

Jonathan growled low and dark when Geoffrey pulled his arm away, and he bared his fangs in a bloody snarl as he felt the wave of pleasure crash over him, whiting out his vision for a few seconds as he held on to that sensation for as long as possible. The intense rush slowly faded to a blissed out buzz, and he inhaled deeply, letting the breath out on a very satisfied hum. He slowly shifted his gaze to Geoffrey and the corners of his lips turned up. "You're spoiling me."

Geoffrey could see the brightness in Jonathan's eyes, and as he held the arctic blue, he just _knew_ that he had most of his strength back. "You say that like I get nothing out of it," he replied with a wolfish smirk. Shifting to a crouch, he leaned over just enough to lick the blood from Jonathan's lower lip, drawing it between his own to give a brief suck before releasing it. "I'm good with it." Chuckling, he pushed himself backwards, grabbing on to the gutter and dropping over the side of the roof to get back into his room. Once there, he went through the door that led to his office so that he could get Jonathan a drop of the blood he needed.

Jonathan inhaled sharply at the unexpected lick, and then blinked in surprise when Geoffrey was suddenly _gone_. He grasped on to the edge of the eave and peered over the side, and when he realized where the other had gone, he swung himself down to the windowsill and stepped inside. He glanced around, and seeing the open door, he went into Geoffrey's office. He smiled at the serious look of concentration on Geoffrey's face as he decanted a drop of King Arthur's blood into the aliquot bottle, it falling to a simple upturn of lips as the brunet came over to him and handed it off. "Thank you for this."

Geoffrey nodded, and then he frowned, shifting his gaze away. "You're sure this antidote will protect you?" he asked.

Jonathan paused. "Not entirely. But I have little choice."

Geoffrey's lips pressed into a thin line when he heard that. "Hn. You have weapons?"

"I have a sword."

Geoffrey nodded. "Good. I'll give you a gun."

Jonathan gave a slight bow of his chin in acknowledgment; it wasn't a bad idea. "Then tomorrow night, I'll return to Pembroke long enough to prepare the antidote, and then I'll put an end to this Disaster."

Again, Geoffrey nodded, this time the gesture forced and stiff. "Reid?" When Jonathan met his gaze, his lips curved down, and he awkwardly shifted his gaze away. "Just…good luck." _…Make sure it's not the end of you, too…_ He turned away from the raven, hand clenched in a tight fist. A few seconds later, he heard Jonathan's voice in his head:

_I swear it…_


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Added some more information to the notes section (including a link to some gorgeous artwork). Beyond that, just fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> I call this the Revenge Chapter…or _'What Geoffrey Did While Jonathan Is Busy Saving London'_. I am sorry that this one is a bit shorter than the past few, but with everything I want to cover, if I didn't break it here, then the resulting chapter would have been _huge_. It's weird to think that for events that happen over a relatively short span of time, there was a lot to write about! The revenge isn't fully completed yet, and we will get to see the Red Queen in the next chapter, but as you will soon see, Geoffrey has been a busy little bee for the first half of his night at least!
> 
> I hope that some of you will feel moderately vindicated after reading this chapter. Protective, possessive Geoffrey goes off to be protective and possessive, and I like to imagine that word of his exploits will spread fairly quickly once the news gets around. You get to spend time building on what you know about a couple more of the Priwen Guards, who are quite possibly certifiable. And, we're setting many things in motion for the endgame. I can't believe it's almost here - not yet though.
> 
> For those of you who indulge my ramblings, I'll keep them short. And again, I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter to you. RealLife(tm) has decided that it wants to be a right bastard for the month of August, and I've been slammed with tasks from every side. But believe me, I write every day, and I am trying to get these out in a timely manner. It kills me to know I'm keeping you waiting. But I promise, I won't leave you hanging. I swear it! xo
> 
> One final note (for those who are curious or care): The rifle Foster uses, the Browning M1918, could be belt-fed, but also had a magazine clip of 20 rounds. While a user could choose to shoot each round individually and actually stand a chance of hitting what he was aiming at, if one wanted to, that clip could be emptied in about three seconds. Inaccurate as hell, but it speaks perfectly to the old adage of _spray and pray_. ~_^
> 
> Finally, a huge thank you, my sweet darlings, for all the love and comments. I enjoy every one I read, and I'm particularly fond of the art some of you have shared. We may not know each other in person, but I do love you all! ♥♥ I'm so glad you've stayed with me on this journey. It's been fun so far! (Even if sometimes, I really, _really_ want to smack Geoffrey stupid and give Jonathan a shake. ) Sweet vampire kisses for you all! **mwah**

The next night, armed with a nine-shot pistol and a spare clip of incendiary rounds courtesy of Geoffrey, Jonathan left for Pembroke to take care of his business, and Geoffrey was left in his office feeling beyond agitated. It wasn't that he didn't have confidence in Jonathan's abilities. He'd faced him himself, and had even watched him fight skals without holding back, so he knew that the raven was more than capable of handling himself. But, when one was facing an unknown enemy called a _Disaster_ , one couldn't help but feel like something sinister was about to happen. As if the name itself wasn't ominous enough, the impending fight definitely carried a sense of foreboding. But, such was the nature of crusades; no one ever required a Champion to run the ice cream social! Jonathan hadn't said much as he'd gathered up his things, but Geoffrey knew he was uneasy. If he concentrated, he could get small snippets of thoughts through Jonathan's mental shields, mostly worries about the monumental task he'd had thrust upon him, and hesitant questions about what the future would bring. He couldn't fault Jonathan for being anxious - after all, it had been incredibly difficult for the brunet to let Jonathan leave without sending one or two guards to accompany him. But Geoffrey understood that this was a solo mission, and holding to the promise the raven had made to him that he'd be back, he'd wished him good luck and watched him go. He was just grateful he had things to do to occupy his time that evening otherwise he knew he'd be tetchily pacing, or finding some way to join in. As it was, he knew that if he found himself with time to kill, he'd likely track Jonathan down and at least silently observe to make sure he was okay.

He sat with his inner circle while they ate dinner. Even though he didn't partake of the meal - though he did sip at a small glass of water - he had insisted on joining them as he always had. For as much as they could annoy him - and that night, they were being particularly obnoxious by teasing Geoffrey about his 'guest' - they really were his family, and he wanted to maintain that sense of trust and camaraderie. If any of them were bothered by the fact that he was a vampire now, or that Jonathan was becoming more of a familiar fixture, they didn't show it. If anything, they were curious, never having really had an opportunity to get too close to one without worrying about dying in the process. They discussed their plans for the night. Geoffrey had plans to take care of the two bastards that Jonathan had unwillingly sired, and until he could get to them, he tasked Foster and Cox with the job of taking a small squad and keeping watch over Aloysius Dawson and James Hurst. He needed to talk to Edgar Swansea first, and while he was looking forward to dispensing with his unwanted 'brothers' himself, he gave his sergeants orders to kill them if they tried to flee the city before he could meet up with them. Bates and Jackson were going to organize the patrols and send them out to eliminate more of the viral skals - and, of course, any vampires they might find taking advantage of the chaos. And, when they'd finished eating, Geoffrey wanted Millar and Hughes to show him their handiwork from the previous evening before he did anything else - a request the two men seemed only too eager to comply with.

As they headed for the central courtyard, Geoffrey's eyes scanned the area. It was a large, open space with a couple of benches and tables for the men to sit at, and it was often used by small squads as a training area for practicing some of the more specialized skills. At one point some years ago, someone had installed a large iron cross into the ground, with three iron rings evenly spaced along the horizontal crossbar. Initially, it had likely been used as a hitching post, but now, it served as a perfect place to restrain a vampire. Obviously, Hughes and Millar had thought the same, and Geoffrey chuckled lowly when he saw how his sergeants had chained Lord Finney. His hands were in manacles, his arms splayed out to the sides like a great 'T' and secured to the outer rings. There wasn't enough length in the chain for him to move his hands more than a few inches in either direction, and certainly not enough slack for him to be able to grab the chain and attempt to pull it free. To further add insult to injury, they'd clamped a heavy iron collar around his neck, which was secured by another short length of chain to the central ring. Finney could not stand without being half hunched over, but he could kneel, and it was possible for him to sit on his ass - provided he was willing to sit ramrod straight with his head tipped back slightly. He noted the heavy charring on Finney's exposed hands and face, and he asked, "The lights, or the sun?"

"Bit of both," Hughes replied. "It was fairly cloudy today, so didn't do much."

"His lucky day, I guess." Geoffrey left the two sergeants at the workbench where Hughes was fussing over a bit of wiring and went over to the chained man to stand in front of him. "Do you know why you're here, leech?" he asked conversationally.

Finney glared at him, his lips dry and cracked as he tried to sneer. "You'd best let me go, hunter. Unless of course, you want me to reveal your secret."

Geoffrey arched a brow. "And what secret would that be?" he asked as a smile slowly spread across his face.

"I know what you are," Finney said. "I saw what you did at the Ascalon Club."

Geoffrey's smile widened. "Ah. So that means you're one of the cowards who fled. Your Chairman's not impressed."

"I'm warning you," Finney growled. "I'm trying to be respectful of your…delicate position."

At that, Geoffrey laughed outright. "Tell them. I don't bloody care."

Finney gave Geoffrey a curious look, then turned to Millar and Hughes. "How can you just blindly trust this man?" he called to them.

Hughes and Millar looked up from their work. "Eh?" Millar called back.

"Do you really know him? Truly?"

Hughes huffed in annoyance and set down his screwdriver, and he and Millar walked over to where Finney was chained. "Bloody noise! We're trying to work, and you're over here, running your head about nonsense. What do you want?"

Finney smirked. "Whatever this man has told you, it's a lie." He saw the two men look at each other, obviously confused. "He seeks to deceive you."

Hughes rolled his eyes. "Do you have a _point_ , leech? Or do we need to gag you?"

"Yeah, what the hell are you on about?" Millar demanded.

"My point is, you're in danger. All of you. I've seen him drink another's blood. He's an Ekon, like me."

Millar's eyes went wide. "He is?" he exclaimed in mock horror, and put a hand on his chest as if suffering from a panic attack.

"Like you?!" Hughes replied, as he parodied a shocked hand over his mouth.

The two guards' eyes met, and they snickered loudly. "Not news. We already know, mate," Millar said with a smirk, and he grinned as he looked at Geoffrey. "Even if we didn't, do you really think we'd side with you over him?"

"And for the record, he's _nothing_ like you," Hughes added, and he gave Finney a patronizing pat on the cheek. "Brilliant effort though, trying to divide us. Fucking wanker." He saw Geoffrey jerk his head towards the doorway, and Hughes' lips curved upwards. "Well, you two enjoy your chat. We're off for a cup and a biccie, but we'll be back."

"Aye. Don't go anywhere," Millar added, the two bursting out laughing as they headed for the kitchen, leaving Geoffrey with Finney.

Geoffrey waited until they were alone, and he drawled, "That went well for you, I thought. Anything else you'd like to try, beast?" A smirk followed when he saw the sour expression. "So, back to my previous question. Do you know why you're here?"

Finney's brow furrowed in frustration, and he pulled at his chains, finding them quite secure. His dark eyes flicked up to Geoffrey and he snapped, "Because you're a barking mad lunatic?"

Geoffrey considered that. "Mm. You're probably not wrong," he agreed. "But you have to admit, this is a lot of bother for a leech that's simply made himself a pain in my arse, don't you think?" His smirk widened. "No, you're here because I want you to know pain. For what you did to Doctor Reid."

"What? Is that what they told you? That it was me?" Finney looked somewhat alarmed. "It wasn't my idea! No, it was Lord Redgrave! He was the one who bartered with Doctor Swansea and gave us instructions. He was the one who always kept his glass full! I'm just following orders!"

Geoffrey smirked. "Leech loyalty, right there. How quick you are to point fingers at one another at the first sign of trouble. It's why your kind can't be trusted. Hn. Understand something. Reid is _my_ quarry, which means he's off-limits to Ascalon. To any leech for that matter."

Finney nodded. "All right. I understand. He's taboo. I'll even tell the others, help spread the word." He offered a small smile as he held up his hands as best he could. "You made your point, I think. You can release me now."

Geoffrey's brows went up, and then he laughed. "Oh, that's brilliant! I'm sorry if you were under the impression that I was going to let you go." He sobered and peered through his brows at the other. "I plan on killing you."

"What? Why?" Finney struggled with renewed vigor for a few moments. When he stilled, he said heatedly, "I just told you it was Lord Redgrave's plan! I was just doing what I was told to do!"

Geoffrey smirked. "Following orders," he drawled. "I get that, I do. It's no different than what I'd ask of my guard. But that's not why I wanted you specifically." He roughly grasped a handful of Finney's hair and forced his gaze upward, pulling on the chain at his neck as he narrowed his eyes. "What Lord Redgrave did pissed me off righteously. He and I have already come to an arrangement, and I'll be taking care of his two _mistakes_ later on tonight. But you? I saw the marks from your filthy bite on him, and that's something no leech gets to do."

Finney gaped at him. " _That's_ what this is about? You can't fault me for wanting a taste!" He pursed his lips in annoyance. "If he'd been stronger, like his bloodline would suggest, he'd have healed them and you'd have never known!"

Geoffrey snorted. "This coming from the century old vampire that was taken down by a bunch of humans and a newborn. Says a lot about _your_ bloodline, doesn't it?" His mouth curved downwards, and he shoved Finney away from him. Finney lost his balance and had to struggle to right himself without the use of his hands, and Geoffrey left him to flail. "I'd have known, you slippery, deceitful bastard. You need to learn a hard lesson about not touching things that don't belong to you. I plan on leaving you here, letting you slowly burn, day after day. Then, when you can't stand it any longer and you beg me to kill you, I may show mercy and grant your request." He smirked darkly. "Just be grateful it's winter and there are sixteen hours of darkness for you to recover. Well, as much as you're able to after we bleed you to slow the process down."

Finney looked horrified. "You wouldn't!"

"The hell you say?" Geoffrey gave a half shrug. "From where I stand, it looks like I gladly would." He pulled his flick knife from his pocket and snapped it open. As he approached Finney, he watched the man struggle in vain against his bonds, his position affording him little movement in any direction. Again, he grabbed a handful of hair and held his neck back, and then cut a three inch gash just above his collarbone. It bled profusely and Geoffrey's eyes narrowed to pleasured slits as he watched the crimson bloom against Finney's shirt. He could smell the Ekon blood in the air, and it called to him. He wanted it, but he resisted, knowing that if he gave in, he would simply kill Finny and that would be the end of it. Later, when he'd grown tired of toying with the pompous Ekon, he would, but for now, he wanted to see him suffer. With a low growl, he held the blade between his lips and pulled the knife back, cleaning the edge and taking a small taste in the process. A contented purr rose as he folded it shut, his eyes slowly roving over the other's form. He wondered if anyone from Ascalon would attempt a rescue, and a moment later, he smirked. He doubted it. They talked a good game, but tended to be mostly bluster when challenged. He heard Millar and Hughes come back out, and as they began setting up the ultraviolet lights, he put the knife back in his pocket and went to see what they were doing. Hughes had made an adjustment - he'd reduced the power, which made the lights less effective short-term, but in the long run, it would make the battery last longer. To compensate, he'd focused the light beam in hopes of making it more concentrated - though the area of effect was now smaller.

Hughes told Geoffrey about what he'd done, and the brunet glanced over at Finney. "I like it." His eyes narrowed coldly. "See how long an entire charge lasts. And if he manages to stop bleeding, open him up again until he can't. In the meantime, I need to have a meeting with an arsehole."

Millar chuckled. "Don't have too much fun, Sir."

"Give him a kiss from us," Hughes added, and when Geoffrey simply gave them both a dismissive wave of his hand, the two sergeants grinned and then bowed their heads back over their work.

The first thing Geoffrey did when he arrived at Pembroke was go to Jonathan's balcony. He could smell the scent of his cologne lingering in the air, and he knew that he'd been there recently, but the lights were down and he was gone now. He held up a hand and reached out to breach the plane of the doorway, but stopped when he met with resistance. He still didn't have permission to enter, so he wouldn't be able to get to Edgar Swansea undetected. He had no choice but to go through the front door.

Not that being stealthy really seemed to matter that night. Over the past few days, it looked like the epidemic had only worsened, and Pembroke appeared to be feeling the effects. Geoffrey had remembered seeing the canvas tents the night he'd fought Jonathan, but now, it seemed like all of the available space in the front courtyard had been turned into a tent city of sorts. Patients in varying stages of influenza occupied all of the available cots, and nurses and orderlies hurried from bed to bed, helpless to cure the illness but offering what they could to make the infirm feel more comfortable. Inside, it wasn't much better, and bordered on organized chaos. The wards were at capacity, and there were patients on cots lining the corridors. More nurses and orderlies were attempting to tend to the overwhelming number of patients there, and as Geoffrey watched them, he could tell that the staff was stressed, exhausted, and obviously had more to worry about than him and what he was doing there.

Taking advantage of the confusion, he asked a frazzled looking duty nurse if Doctor Swansea was working. He licked away the smirk when she asked if he was expecting him, though before he could answer, she suggested trying his office. With a wave of thanks, he made his way up the central staircase and stood outside Edgar's office. Relying on his vampire senses, he knew Edgar was there. He remembered the layout of the space from previous visits, and given that he wasn't moving around inside, he figured he was working on something at his desk. _So, doing nothing…_ He felt that same resistance as he stood at Edgar's door, and he scowled. _Bloody inconvenience…_ Setting his jaw, he raised his hand and knocked.

"Come in," Edgar called.

Geoffrey arched a brow in surprise at the chipper greeting. Either Edgar didn't know he could sense who was standing on the other side of a door, or he'd just gotten that comfortable in his position to where he saw himself as untouchable now. _Neutral territory_ , he'd called it once before. That only worked if both sides agreed. He smirked when he was handed the careless welcome, and eyes narrowed in dark amusement he turned the knob and entered the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"Ah, Jonathan! Good! I-" Edgar cut himself off abruptly when he saw _who_ was standing before him, and his eyes went round and wide in shock.

Geoffrey's smirk grew exponentially as he watched the horrified expression take hold. "You really should learn to be less cavalier with your invitations. You never know who might be lurking on the other side of the door and come calling."

"McCullum!"

Geoffrey arrogantly held his arms out to the side, and chuckled lowly. "Surprise," he purred.

"But… _how_? Jonathan told me you were dead!" Edgar said as he stood up, and he frowned. "He lied to me!"

Geoffrey snorted. "That's precious, you of all people feeling slighted by a deception." He levelled a glare at Edgar. "Be careful what accusations you make, Swansea. He didn't lie."

"No? He said that he'd watched you die, and made sure that you didn't come back as a skal. Yet…here you are."

A cold smile slowly curved the corners of Geoffrey's lips upward. "He did watch me die. And he _definitely_ made sure I wouldn't become a disgusting skal." His lips parted for a wide grin, showing off his fangs. "He's a hell of a doctor. He made me better."

Edgar gasped. "He turned you!"

"Aye. I told you he liked me better than you," Geoffrey said cockily.

Edgar was obviously unimpressed. "Doubtful." He tapped his foot against the floor in nervous irritation. "You're a _hunter_ for God's sake! Why would he ever do something so foolish?"

"Oi! Now that I'm getting used to it, I don't think it was such a bad idea, really," Geoffrey replied with a shrug. "For one, it means I have an easier time tracking down leeches and putting an end to their evil ways." His eyes narrowed accusingly. "And you, Swansea, you conniving bastard, you deserve _everything_ you've got coming to you."

Edgar flinched at the stare. In that moment, he realized that whatever immunity he'd previously enjoyed from the Guard of Priwen, circumstances were now changed, and Geoffrey was out for blood. "I-I don't know what you were told, but I-I was only trying to help people!" Edgar stammered as he took a few steps away from Geoffrey. "I wanted to end this epidemic. I did nothing wrong! I-I even tried telling that to your war dogs when they beat me black and blue. I'm just a victim of circumstance!"

"Victim!" Geoffrey sneered, and then snorted contemptuously. "Nah! You're a murderer, a liar, a traitor, and a self-righteous arsehole, and you're going to answer for it. At least now, it's not murder. Just a simple extermination of some unwanted vermin."

Edgar stared into the angry blue, his own red-tinged eyes looking quite panicked. "I'm a pacifist, McCullum! I would never hurt anyone!" he pled. "Truly, it was an honest mistake!"

"Don't hand me that shit," Geoffrey spat as he frowned. "I can see it in your eyes, I know you've killed. Bet I could tell you exactly how many if I went and had a good look in your morgue. Lucky thing you sign off on the death certificates, innit? Cover your tracks, eh? Murdering leech."

"I-I-I didn't!" Edgar insisted. "Well, no one who wasn't already terminal and would have died anyway! It was an act of mercy!"

" _Liar_!" Geoffrey roared as he glowered and bared his fangs.

Edgar jumped, and he loosed a startled squeak when he saw the sinister expression on Geoffrey's face. His own twisted into a terrified grimace, and then there was a quick puff of black smoke as Edgar headed for the window.

Edgar was fast, but Geoffrey was faster, reappearing between Edgar and his escape route. His upper lip drawn back in a sneer, he raised a fist, and with a quick jab, he punched the older man right between the eyes, sending his glasses skittering across the floor and making him stagger back a couple of steps. While Edgar was off-balance, Geoffrey snaked out a hand and grabbed him by his tie, wrapping the cloth around his fist and holding tight. "Uh-uh. We're not done, you fucking coward," he hissed, watching as blood ran from Edgar's nose and over his lips, curving around his chin to run down his neck. Geoffrey closed his eyes for a moment when he caught the scent on the air, and he breathed deeper, a low, dark growl rumbling in his chest as he felt the hunger call. It was definitely different from Jonathan's blood, but there was a familiar undercurrent to it. It was Jonathan's mark, as Edgar's sire. He'd sensed similar properties in the Ascalon Ekon he'd dealt with, hints gleaned about their respective Makers. But in this particular case, he knew it specifically to belong to the raven. It made Edgar marginally more desirable. His eyes slid open and he stared hard at Edgar. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to tear out Edgar's throat and drain him, and his eyes narrowed to cold slits as he focused on the thick crimson, his tongue running slowly along his upper teeth, pausing to curl around a canine.

Edgar watched Geoffrey's reactions with a mixture of fascination and terror. Edgar thought the brunet looked the part of the predator right then, analyzing the scent of his prey and evaluating. He found that intriguing, though the way Geoffrey was staring at him, it sent a shiver of fear down his spine. He would admit to being quite afraid in that moment of what the other was going to do to him. "What do you want from me?" he asked hesitantly.

Edgar's voice brought Geoffrey back into the present, and after staring at him for another second or two, he swallowed down his hunger, and he tried to mask the pained grimace as it continued to silently gnaw at him. He wanted to kill Edgar so badly, but he wouldn't. A promise was a promise. With a disgusted huff, he pushed Edgar backwards into his office chair as he drew his sword. He glanced briefly at the blade, and then flipped it around in his hand, grabbing it in a reverse grip as he pressed the edge against the older man's throat. "How far do you think I could remove your head from your neck before you wouldn't be able to heal the wound?"

"I-I don't know."

Geoffrey snorted in dark amusement as he slowly licked the bit of Edgar's blood from the thumb pad of his free hand, and he let out a shivered exhale as he tasted hints of Jonathan. "You have to admit, Swansea, from a purely _scientific viewpoint_ , it'd be interesting to see the outcome…" He put a boot on the seat between Edgar's thighs and leaned a knee into his chest, pressing his weight a little on the sword. His eyes gleamed as the edge bit slightly into the flesh, and the blood wicked up the length of the blade. "Don't you agree?" he asked coldly, throwing the other's words to Jonathan back at him.

Edgar didn't miss the reference. "I meant no disrespect. I am a scientist; I have an insatiable curiosity!" Edgar felt Geoffrey press more insistently on the blade, and he swallowed harshly. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly with the gesture and sent another fine line of blood down the length of Geoffrey's sword. "Please, don't kill me," Edgar whispered as he closed his eyes.

"Tch. Pathetic." Geoffrey snorted in disgust, and then straightened. He wiped the length of his sword off using Edgar's tie, and he slipped it back in the scabbard. "I'm not here to kill you. But know this: the only reason you're still alive is because Reid thinks you should be."

"Ah, Jonathan, my dear, sweet friend," Edgar mused softly, his posture relaxing as he let his head hang forward.

"Funny you should mention that," Geoffrey said, and with his index finger, he tilted Edgar's chin up so he could meet his eyes. "Tell me, leech, where is Reid?"

"I won't let you hurt him, McCullum!"

"That's touching. Such altruism!" Geoffrey replied caustically. "I don't want to hurt him. I just want you to tell me where he is."

"Well, I-I've not seen him yet tonight. Perhaps he's doing more research into the epidemic? He's been so focused on that lately, we barely cross paths."

"Hn." Geoffrey smiled coldly. "Fair enough. I believe that you've not seen him. Tonight." His expression turned deadly, and spinning Edgar's chair around so the older man faced the desk, he grabbed his right hand and held it flat against the blotter as he fired a crossbow bolt through the back of it, and then repeated the process with the left. "But let's chat about that some, yeah?"

Edgar howled in pain, bloody tears welling in the corners of his eyes when he flexed his fingers and found himself truly trapped. "You said you weren't going to kill me!" he whimpered.

"I know what I said," Geoffrey said waspishly. "I promised I wouldn't, no matter how much you deserve it. But I never said I wouldn't hurt you."

Edgar's eyes widened. "W-what?"

"Yeah. A little bit of pain might make you a bit more willing to work with me." He kept an eye on Edgar as he came around to the far side of the desk, and he studied him for a few moments before he smiled. "This is how this is going to work. I'm going to ask you questions. If you refuse to answer, or if I think you're lying to me, I make you bleed in some way." He chuckled as he pulled out his flick knife, and with a snap of his wrist, he extended the blade. He waggled his eyebrows as he showed it to Edgar, and then set it on the edge of the desk in front of him. "Let's begin. First question: did you go to Ascalon, or did they come to you?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" Edgar said.

Geoffrey scowled, and with a low snarl, he grabbed a fistful of Edgar's hair and in one fluid motion, slammed his face against the desktop once before releasing him. He watched the blood run from Edgar's nose and mouth, the tip of his tongue pressed against the centre of his upper teeth as he studied him. "Ah, now see?" Geoffrey said as he picked up his knife. "That's a lie. Lord Redgrave told me _himself_ that the two of you had a meeting. I can't see why he'd make something like that up. Not about you. You're just not that important."

"You broke my nose, you sadist!" Edgar murmured thickly through the blood he could feel trickling down his throat, his eyes again welling with pained tears. He gave his head a slight shake, attempting to stave off the dizziness, and he was surprised to feel the beginnings of a headache.

"You'll heal," Geoffrey snapped. "So, we both know you met with Lord Redgrave. Don't bullshit me about that. Did you contact him, or did he contact you?"

"You make it all sound so… _sordid_ , McCullum," Edgar mumbled as he sniffed hard, and then made a face. "There was nothing cloak and dagger about it!"

"God damn it! It's a simple bloody question!" Geoffrey drew his upper lip back in a frustrated sneer as he jammed the point of the knife into the joint where Edgar's hand met his little finger. Edgar cried out in pain, and with his free hand, Geoffrey roughly grabbed his chin and forced the older man's gaze to his, glowering hatefully at him. "You like experiments, eh Swansea? I just made this one up, special for you. We're going to find out together if vampires can reattach lost parts, if they'll regenerate, or if you're just outright fucked." He twisted the blade just enough to pop the small joint out of its socket and dislocate it. "This is pretty exciting, innit? Ground breaking research! Should be right up your street, eh?"

Edgar whimpered when Geoffrey dislocated his finger, and staked to the desk as he was, he couldn't even make an attempt to get away from the brunet. "Please don't do this!" Edgar begged. "I'll tell you everything you want to know!"

"Aye. You will." Geoffrey smiled darkly. "Because I'm done playing around. Bullshit me again, and it comes off - though part of me thinks you're as curious as I am about what's going to happen." He glanced down at Edgar's hand. "Leeches are pretty resilient bastards. They can heal up from a lot of things and look none the worse for it. But even if the injury is fleeting, the pain is still very real." As if to emphasize his point, he slowly twisted the knife back and forth, grinding the steel against the wounded joint. The corners of his mouth curved up in a devious smirk when Edgar's whimper rose in both pitch and volume to a pained scream. "So, you're ready to talk now?" he asked, and when Edgar nodded silently, he gave a single downward tilt of his chin in acknowledgement. "Right. So, who contacted whom?"

Edgar clenched his jaw against the pain in his hand, and although he didn't have his glasses on, he could see that his finger was quite damaged - as if the constant agonized throbbing wasn't enough of an indication. "Lord Redgrave sent an invitation to meet through a couple of his members. I'd never met the man before, but he was quite a pleasant fellow. Said he was just trying to get in contact with Jonathan, and asked for my help in arranging a meeting."

It wasn't an unreasonable request, but the execution should have raised a lot of red flags; that it didn't was a reflection of Edgar's utter apathy, and that infuriated him. Geoffrey's grip tightened on the knife handle and he scowled. "And you didn't once question why Reid might not want to deal with them? Instead, you helped arrange it so they could drug him, and then take him and torture him?" He snorted. "Pathetic."

Edgar's eyes widened. "Torture? No, Lord Redgrave never said anything about torture! He said they just wanted to talk! I didn't know what they had planned - I was just a middleman. I just gave Jonathan an address!"

"You didn't know, or you didn't _want_ to know?" Geoffrey demanded. "So long as you got your compensation, you couldn't have cared less what happened to him after!"

"That's not true! Jonathan's my…my friend."

Geoffrey stared blankly at Edgar for several moments, unable to believe what he'd just heard, and then blind rage took over. With a furious snarl, he again delivered a hard jab to the bridge of Edgar's nose. He felt the bone crack, and watched with some satisfaction as the other man's head snapped back against the chair's headrest from the force. Additionally, the jarring movement pulled at the stakes in Edgar's hands, tearing the flesh a little, the knife cutting deeper into Edgar's finger. "Let me understand this. Rather than set up a meeting at the hospital like a normal person, you sent your _friend_ to a dodgy address in the docks instead? Rather than be honest, you lied to him, made up some ridiculous story knowing he wouldn't say no?" He growled angrily. "What the hell did you think was going to happen to him, Judas Iscariot? They'd ask him to tea?"

"Well, to be honest, Lord Redgrave seemed quite reasonable. I didn't give it much thought beyond their meeting. I-"

"Wrong answer!" Geoffrey snapped as he punched Edgar again, and this time he stepped into it, putting his full force behind the left hook. Panting softly, he paused for a moment to lick the smear of Edgar's blood from his knuckles, a soft murmur rising as he let the familiar undercurrent warm him and calm him. "Either you're the most naïve, stupid man I've ever met, or you just can't see beyond your own ambition." He snorted in disgust. "I know it's the latter. He gave you his trust, and you betrayed him for opportunity. I hope he never forgives you. I know I won't." He glanced around Edgar's office then, noting the different bookshelves, the locked chest, the secure curios, and his gaze returned to Edgar's. "Where's the blood?"

"What blood?"

"Tch." Geoffrey sharply twisted the knife in Edgar's hand, putting the blade perpendicular to Edgar's finger. "Marshall's blood. Where is it?"

Edgar stifled a pained shout as the blade tore ligaments and tendons. "No, please! You can't take that! I need it for my research!"

"You're done with your macabre research." Geoffrey pressed the blade down, slowly cutting through the flesh of Edgar's finger, severing it about halfway through. He arched a brow at how much it actually bled, and he watched the red soak into the desk blotter to create a rather gruesome looking Rorschach blot. "Hn." He spun the knife one hundred and eighty degrees. The next time, he would detach the digit completely. "You might want to reconsider. I can keep doing this all night, cutting you into progressively smaller and smaller pieces." He began to slowly cut through the remaining tissue.

"Stop! Please!" Edgar cried out, and when Geoffrey paused and looked at him expectantly, he closed his eyes and licked some of the dried blood from his lower lip. "It's in the breast pocket of my lab coat," he murmured in defeat.

"If you're lying to me, there'll be hell to pay," Geoffrey warned as he pulled the knife free and absently licked the blood from the blade. He inhaled softly, and set the knife down on the desk as he stared darkly at Edgar. In hindsight, he should have fed before he'd come; it was getting harder and harder to remember the promise he'd made - especially with each subsequent thing Edgar said that just pissed him off more. Trying not to think about how hungry he was, Geoffrey came around to Edgar's side of the desk, and he smirked a little. A lot of the injuries had healed, but Edgar was a mess, his normally pristine lab coat rumpled and covered in blood. Flicking his gaze upward, he noted that Edgar looked quite pale, and he snorted in amusement. "You don't look too well, Swansea."

"This whole ordeal tonight just sickens me," Edgar moaned. "First, you come in here like some sort of Neanderthal to violently attack me, and now you're going to rob me."

Geoffrey scoffed. "You're not an innocent, leech. In fact, if it wasn't for you, we wouldn't even be having this conversation." He found the vial in Edgar's coat, and he studied it curiously. Cocking his head to the side, he opened the bottle and sniffed it, his pupils dilating as his hunger surged. Swallowing harshly, he licked his lips as he recapped it, and then glared at Edgar. "Consider it payment for the suffering he endured because of you."

"You don't understand," Edgar whimpered dejectedly. "Then again, you're nothing more than a savage. How could someone like you possibly understand the beauty of it? It's a perfect specimen. Ancient, powerful, pure. The things that I could have done with it!" 

"You've done enough, Swansea. You're dangerous." He stuck the vial in his pocket and then collected his knife. Pointing it at Edgar, he said, "Tonight you get a reprieve. You get to live. But the second this epidemic is over, you'd better run, because I'm coming for you." With that, he flipped it closed and turned on his heel, heading for the door.

"Wait!" Edgar called out, and when Geoffrey stopped and turned to glance at him, he said, "You can't leave me here like this!"

Geoffrey arched a brow as he took a couple of paces back into the room. "Why the hell not?"

Edgar gaped for a moment, stunned. "What? Well, because - because it's cruel! The windows are unshuttered right now. When the sun comes up, that would be akin to torture!"

Geoffrey smirked. "You say that like I care about what happens to you." He let his tongue skate along his lower lip, and then tilted his chin down to peer at him darkly through his brows, the smirk widening. "I'm just a savage, remember? You're the bloody brilliant doctor. I'm sure you'll figure something out." He held his hands out in front of him, palms down, and then, eyes widening for effect, he gave a quick upward jerk with his arms in parody of a solution, and then chuckled. "If not, I'm sure someone will think to check on you eventually. Maybe. If not, well…it'll hurt like a bugger, but it won't kill you." Stooping, he picked up Edgar's glasses, folded the arms in on them, and carefully set them on the corner of the desk. "See? I'm not a _complete_ Neanderthal. Ta-ra."

"McCullum? …McCullum! …Geoffrey! _Please_!"

Geoffrey was still laughing to himself as he stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him, showing himself out a few moments later. Once on the street, he silently began to walk towards the West End. There he would meet up with Foster and Cox, and put an end to the two bastards Lord Redgrave had forced Jonathan to sire. The corners of his mouth curved downward as he took the vial of blood from his pocket and looked at it once more. He absolutely agreed that it could be catastrophic to leave something like that in Edgar Swansea's possession, but he wasn't feeling charitable enough to give it back to Lord Redgrave, either. For the time being, he would hang on to it. Slipping it back into his pocket, he wondered how Jonathan was faring. Sometimes, if he concentrated, he could hear fragments of the raven's thoughts, and it bothered him that when he tried now, he was getting nothing. He was possibly too far away, and if this Disaster was as formidable as Jonathan had said, he likely was too busy trying not to die to worry about extraneous thoughts. With that, he moved faster, deciding to dispense with the two Ekon quickly and find Jonathan.

He found Cox first. The sergeant and his squad were positioned around James Hurst's home, and they were presently watching him carry luggage out from the house to load in the boot of the car. "Bloody coward," Geoffrey muttered. "Must've heard from the King Rat and decided to scurry off."

"Yeah," Cox replied. "If you'd been much longer, we'd have taken him out. Brant's up on the wall, waiting for a signal, and Edwards is watching the side yard." He snorted in amusement. "Worst leech I've ever seen. He's got three of us standing right close like we are, and he's not noticed."

"Distracted," Geoffrey said as he watched Hurst come out with a case and shove it haphazardly in the back seat. "He's got other worries on his mind. Like how much money to bring along, and which fancy clothes he might need." He smirked. "You know, critical things for making an escape." His eyes narrowed. "Pull your men back," he said after a moment. "I'm going to kill that bastard and don't need an audience."

Cox arched a brow, but nodded. "Yes, Sir." He gave a short, trilled whistle, and when the other two turned towards his location, he patted the top of his head, signalling _on me_. Cox watched as the men began to creep away from their positions, and he smirked. "All yours, Sir."

Geoffrey smiled darkly. "Appreciate you. Some of us haven't had dinner yet." His expression serious, he shadow jumped to a spot just outside the gate, and then, keeping out of sight, his eyes glowing faintly, he slipped around the brick pillar and waited in the darkness for Hurst to come back outside. Finally, Hurst left his house and slid behind the wheel of his car, and Geoffrey moved. Shadow jumping to the door, he stood so that Hurst couldn't close it, and he grabbed him by the front of his coat. "Hello, Darling," he purred dangerously as he flashed a wicked smile at the very surprised Ekon. He moved slightly, one hand holding Hurst's head firmly against the headrest, the other shifting to clench tightly to his bicep. Geoffrey sank his fangs into Hurst's throat, his eyes falling closed as he drank deeply from him, sating his hunger. As he'd noticed with Edgar, there was that hint of familiarity in this blood, and as he felt the first waves of pleasure begin to wash over him, he loosed a soft, wanton growl, his thoughts automatically going to Jonathan. As he fed, he remembered the state he'd found the raven in, and what Lord Redgrave had stolen from him, and as that possessive, protective streak flared, his growl turned more malevolent. Jonathan was his, and God help anyone who hurt him, for Geoffrey swore he would pay them back in spades. And even though Hurst hadn't been directly responsible, he'd benefitted from the act. For that, Geoffrey wanted this man to know fear. Hurst struggled against his grasp, but Geoffrey held tighter, finding the other's panic almost intoxicating. He felt Hurst's movements slow and weaken as he drained him of most of his blood, and after another few moments, he tore himself away with a feral snarl, eyes narrowed and fangs bared. Keeping his grip on the other, he panted harshly for several breaths, letting the welcome euphoric swoon carry him away, and then he licked the blood from his lips and breathed deeply through his nose as he came down from his high. He shifted his gaze to Hurst, and a cold smirk turned the corners of his mouth upwards as he drew his revolver.

"Why?" Hurst asked on a labored breath. "I did nothing wrong; I was leaving even…for good!"

"Wrong place, wrong time. You stole your immortality. It's nothing personal, but an example needs to be made." The smirk widened. "Don't worry; for you, I'll make it quick." Pressing the barrel of the revolver against Hurst's heart, he shot him twice. Once Geoffrey confirmed he was dead, he reholstered his weapon, and when he noticed the man's billfold sitting on the seat, he leaned across him to take it. A brow arched when he saw the fairly substantial quantity of notes, and bringing it with him, he walked off the property and headed for the knoll to rejoin Cox. As he drew closer, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then sucked the crimson smear from his flesh. He saw the wide-eyed look on Cox's face, and he cocked his head to the side slightly. "What?"

"That was…so fast," Cox breathed. "One minute, you were here, then you were down there. I only saw you for a second when I spotted your eyes. And then-" He cut himself off, and he visibly shivered. "I trust you with my life, Sir, but seeing you go after that leech in that way…it's eerie."

Geoffrey arched a brow. "It's why I said I didn't want an audience," he replied tartly. "Next time, bloody well listen."

Cox offered a sheepish smile. "Next time, at least I'll know what to expect. Won't seem so ghoulish." He held up his hands in a defensive gesture when Geoffrey glared darkly at him. "Not saying it's a bad thing, Sir. It's still strange to think about it, but I get that it's what you do now, and…it's actually pretty great. But I never knew vampires…erm, _ate_ other vampires. And Millar said you don't really fancy humans. It's just…well, _why_?" His gaze shifted to Geoffrey's mouth, as if trying to peek at his teeth when he spoke.

"Why do you like Scotch eggs with that foul Marmite on?" Geoffrey asked, and he shook his head. "I don't know why, Cox. It's just the sort of leech I am." He shrugged. "I'd rather it be like that over worrying about you lot - though I did tell Millar he'd do in a pinch."

"He'd probably give you indigestion, Sir."

Geoffrey let out a single bark of laughter and then, with a smirk, he handed the billfold to his sergeant. "For the coffers. Looks like he was planning on heading out for a long time. Not like he'll be needing it now." He chuckled lowly, and then licked his lips of the grin. "I have to go find Foster. Head back. See if Bates needs any more patrols sent out. If not, you've earned a stand down for the night."

"Yes, Sir," Cox said, and he headed down the far side of the slope. "Right lads, tea break's over. Good job; McCullum's pleased." He grinned. "Time to head back; if Captain Bates has a job for us, we'll handle it. If not, we'll take the early night." As the men dumped their Thermoses and gathered up their things to head for home, Cox turned back to Geoffrey. "Foster's probably got the dodgier of the two with that old codger. He was a right bastard as a human, and probably worse now. Just…mind yourself," he called, and then he grinned. "Hate to hear you'd been bested by a bloke who could double as your granddad."

"Shut it," Geoffrey called back, and he smirked. "Arsehole." When Cox mocked a salute and headed for home himself, Geoffrey sobered completely and made his way towards Aloysius Dawson's manor. As he drew closer, he realized that Cox was probably right. Everyone in London knew Dawson's name, and his reputation definitely preceded him. When he arrived, he found Foster leaning against a wrought iron gate on the opposite side of the street and watching the house. 

The sergeant glanced over when Geoffrey drew near. "Dawson's in," he told the brunet. "We've been keeping an eye, but if he knows something's up, he's not made a move."

"Intriguing. Hurst was trying to do a runner." He smirked. "Didn't make it."

"Ah, shame," Foster drawled, the amusement evident in his voice. He sobered then and pointed to the house. "We've only seen one servant, but that's not to say there aren't more. I mean, he's just a rich merchant toff, but a bloke like that, you just never know."

"No," Geoffrey agreed. "You never know. But even if there are more, I'm betting they're not the sort to stand up and die for him. They're loyal to the money, not the man."

"You make a good point," Foster replied, and then he chuckled. "Well? Now that you're here, let's go get him, then."

"Can't."

"What? Why not?" Foster asked, obviously confused.

"Leeches can't enter someone's house without an invitation," Geoffrey said, and he frowned. "It's bloody inconvenient, that."

"Yeah, would be," Foster said, and then he shrugged. "No worries. Me and the lads can go nab him and drag him out."

"Could do. But without proper reconnaissance, it's not smart. Remember what I taught you about leech lairs. I'd guarantee you this bastard has his defended with traps. Probably had them when he was still human." Geoffrey's eyes narrowed in thought. "Bet we could draw him out, though. If he's like those other Ascalon arseholes, he probably thinks the Guard is certifiably pants-on-head, and his privilege somehow grants him power."

Foster's face split for a wide grin. "Well then! Let's give him what he expects! Give me a second to fill in the others, let them know what's going on, then I'll go politely knock on his door." From the manic glint in Foster's eyes, that meant it would be anything but. "Pretty sure a newborn leech with that big of an ego might find me irresistible." He met Geoffrey's eyes. "Just…don't let him eat me for real, yeah?"

" _Nahhh_ ," Geoffrey drawled, and he smirked. "You're not Millar." He gave a single downward tilt of his chin to Foster, and then walked deliberately through the gate and waited for Foster to join him. When the other did a few minutes later, he arched a brow when he saw his sergeant carried a Browning M1918. "Is the bell out of service?"

Foster chuckled as he loaded a magazine clip into the rifle. "Dunno. But why take the chance, yeah? I mean, I'd hate for him to miss us after we've come all this way to have a nice, friendly chat. I've got O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy covering the back, and they'll shoot the bugger if he tries to leg it." He cocked the weapon, and pointed it towards the house. "Though I did warn them to stay well back until the shooting stops. On their own head be it if I clip 'em." He flashed a dark smile, and then pulled the trigger, not bothering with aiming as he took the rifle full automatic and quickly sprayed all twenty rounds into the windows and front door in just a few seconds.

Geoffrey chuckled when Foster paused to reload. "Ah, subtle. I like it," he remarked, and he turned his attention back to the house. If Dawson hadn't known they were there before, there was little doubt he did now. "How many magazines did you bring?"

"Three," Foster replied, and again, he unloaded all twenty rounds into the house. "Figured it'd be enough. Wouldn't want to overdo it." The third clip was emptied in similar fashion, and then Foster safetied the rifle and set it on the ground, watching as the dust settled around them. "Oi! Dawson, you big gobshite!" Foster shouted. "The Guard of Priwen demands a word!"

The front door slowly swung open on its broken hinge, the wood splintered in several places. Aloysius Dawson stood on the porch, dark beady eyes narrowed and looking even more sinister for the red cast to them. "Hooligans! The Guard of Priwen will pay for what it's done to my house!" the old man called back, his voice nasally but imperious. "I doubt you have the funds, so your lives will be a good start." He held out a hand and slowly drew it into a clenched fist, a sadistic smile on his face.

Geoffrey realized quickly what Dawson was doing, and he none-too-gently shoved Foster out of the way as the shadows erupted from the ground in front of him and exploded, sending him flying. He crashed hard into the side of Dawson's car, arms splayed out to the side as his head bounced off the door, putting a sizable dent in the metal.

Foster stumbled hard when he was pushed, but managed to catch himself in time, turning to see Geoffrey hit the vehicle and splay out on the ground. "McCullum!" Foster shouted, and he started to run towards him, only to stop dead when Dawson was suddenly standing between him and the brunet. "Bastard!"

"Aww, what a pity!" Dawson jeered. "He was a _big_ one; I was looking forward to knocking him down a peg or two! I'd heard stories that the Guard of Priwen was not to be trifled with, that they were a formidable force; a threat to Ascalon. Ha! I didn't think it'd be over so quickly. It's laughably pathetic!" He turned, and saw Geoffrey slumped over on the ground. "Your kind are so painfully fragile, so easy to dominate. The way I see it, those who won't obediently serve the Ekon can feed us," Dawson sneered as he turned towards Foster and grabbed him by the throat. "What will the _infamous_ Guard of Priwen do now? You're powerless; I can endure almost anything! My Maker was powerful and that was passed on to me. It made me strong!"

"Yeah," Foster managed to rasp. "I know your Maker. He's a strong leech all right, but I know he wouldn't make a prat like _you_ by choice." He winced when Dawson squeezed tighter, and he gasped for breath. "Truth hurts, don't it?" he asked with a grin.

Dawson frowned. "There is something very wrong with you, boy. I'm about to crush your throat, and you're smiling at me like an imbecile."

"Yeah, well, I have to be a bit of a looney to track down blood drinkers on purpose every night. Heh, at least I know my limitations."

"And they are _many_ , human. It's too bad I can't bring myself to drink your classless, common blood and show the rest of the vermin my might. But I'll just settle for tossing your lifeless corpse at the feet of your colleagues. Did you really think you could stop me that easily?" he demanded arrogantly.

Foster saw the smug expression, and then gave a wheezed chuckle. "Me? Nah. But he could." His attention flicked to a point just behind Dawson's shoulder.

"What?" Dawson turned just in time to see Geoffrey standing silently behind him. His wounds from the shadow attack had healed already, and the brunet's mouth was curved downwards, blue eyes sparking in anger. Before he could do much more than gasp in surprise, he groaned in pain and released Foster as Geoffrey's sword went straight through his chest.

"I'm not mortal," Geoffrey said acidly. His gaze briefly shifted to Foster. "All right?"

Foster managed a grin through his grimace, and nodded as he rubbed at his throat. "Aces," he replied harshly as he gave a quick thumbs up.

Geoffrey's eyes met Dawson's again. " _My_ Maker was powerful," he hissed lowly. "And the thought of a vile beast like you thieving your immortality from him turns my stomach." He breathed deeply and licked his lips slowly as he smelled Dawson's blood. "You were a monster before you were ever turned. I'd love nothing more than to make you suffer for that treachery, but I find you repellent in every way. Your death will do well enough to satisfy me." Tightening his grip on his sword, he grasped the side of Dawson's head and jerked it back, pivoting them slightly so he wasn't in Foster's direct line of sight. With a low, feral growl, he bared his fangs before driving them hard into Dawson's flesh.

Dawson cried out in agony from the ferocity of the bite, and he tried to push Geoffrey away, but the brunet was bigger and stronger, better trained and driven by his loathing. Dawson was powerless to resist, and could only bat feebly at Geoffrey's sword arm. The more of his blood that Geoffrey took, the weaker he grew. "I'm not ready to die," he whimpered. "I was supposed to live forever…"

Geoffrey tore himself away with a savage snarl, and he panted harshly, a euphoric grin on his face as he narrowed his eyes and felt the energy from the blood course through him. Ravenously, he brushed his fingers over his mouth and chin to gather the crimson remnants, and then cleansed the digits with lips, teeth and tongue. As he gave one last, long lick to his index finger, he shifted his eyes to Dawson, his expression hateful. "Stop mewling and have some fucking dignity!" he snapped as he roughly jerked his sword free from the other's body, taking sadistic pleasure in the pained shout. "Your bloodline is strong, but you're pathetic." The tip of his tongue curled around the point of a fang, and he grasped his sword in two hands. He flexed his fingers against the leather wrapping to adjust his grip and then swung it around in a fast arc, stepping into the move with his bodyweight as he made contact to effectively behead the older man with one strike. He watched as Dawson's body fell to the ground, and he scowled as he looked at it for a moment. "Good riddance," he muttered, and then turned to Foster.

Foster stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, as if trying to process what he'd just witnessed over the past thirty seconds. "Christ," he breathed as his gaze briefly went to Dawson. "Remind me not to get on your bad side, yeah?" he remarked with a wan chuckle. He cleared his throat, and then looked at Geoffrey, the tip of his tongue reflexively licking the corner of his mouth as he brushed it with his thumb, silently hinting to the brunet. "You're…good now?"

Geoffrey rolled his eyes as he impatiently wiped the blood away, and nodded. "Yeah. I'm good." He studied the bruising on Foster's throat. "Make sure you see Grant or Quinn when you get back."

"Yes, Sir," Foster said as he retrieved his rifle and slung it. "Orders?"

Geoffrey glanced at Dawson's manor. "If there's anything of value, grab it. If there's staff, suggest they fuck off to better places."

Foster grinned. "Brilliant. I love shopping sprees!" He chuckled softly, then sobered. "You coming back with us?"

Geoffrey shook his head. "Nah. There's one more thing I need to check on."

Foster narrowed his eyes as he studied Geoffrey. "Reid?"

Geoffrey's jaw clenched, and he didn't look at Foster, but he gave a single nod.

Foster smiled softly. Geoffrey was a certifiable bastard, but each one of them knew that the brunet cared strongly for them, would do anything to protect them, and would willingly trade his own life for theirs. It was the same with Jonathan, and yet more. And it wasn't just because Jonathan was Geoffrey's sire. Geoffrey had found someone to care about on a higher level. He wasn't surprised; none of them were, really. The brunet could deny it, but they'd all witnessed him give the raven countless chances to escape. And more recently, they knew how quickly he'd dashed off when he'd learned about Ascalon's treachery. How viciously and completely he'd retaliated. But it went both ways. Jonathan had been the first person outside of the Guard - and surprisingly, it had been a vampire - to show any real concern for Geoffrey in a very long time. But to those closest to Geoffrey, what Jonathan was didn't matter. Geoffrey seemed more at peace for it. And while none of them had said it outright, truth told, they liked Jonathan, too, and were worried as well after Geoffrey had shared what details he could of Jonathan's mission. For as strange as it seemed, Jonathan was Geoffrey's 'family', and none of them wanted to see that taken away. "Do you know where to look?"

Geoffrey paused for several beats, and then silently shook his head. "No. Even he didn't know exactly."

"Can't say for sure if it'll amount to much, but the patrols have been reporting the sewers by the Docks have been eerily quiet the past couple of nights. Might be a place to start?"

Geoffrey nodded. "…Thanks."

"McCullum?" Foster grinned when Geoffrey met his eyes. "He'll do it. He's a tough leech and a stubborn bastard. Just like you."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE: Due to an HTML coding failure on my part, three paragraphs were mistakenly omitted shortly after Geoffrey and Jonathan first get together in Jonathan's room. I've fixed this since then...it's just a bit more sexitiemz descriptions, not integral to the story, but if it felt weird in that part, you know why...**
> 
> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Nothing of consequence. Just fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. (This notification will be removed once the story is complete)**
> 
> Well, my lovelies, it seems we've made it. This chapter is quite big. I debated long and hard about whether to break this chapter into two or not, but in the end, I opted not to for two reasons. First, there was not a 'good' place to break it. Either one part would be very short, or what remained felt choppy and incomplete. Second, I made you wait a few days longer for this one, so have a 'mega chapter' as your reward. ~_^ (If you see such things as rewarding! LOL) There is _a lot_ going on here, and I won't spoil it for you, but hopefully the loose ends got tied up tidily, and that you enjoy a bit more of awkward!Geoffrey being awkward.
> 
> In the game, I didn't like how the boss fight ended with the Red Queen taking a knee. I adapted the end of the fight to suit my purposes and make it look (hopefully!) a little nicer. Fights are difficult!
> 
> I can't believe this is the end. And to think, when I first started, I figured maybe five chapters. ¬_¬ It's somewhat bittersweet for me. I've had a lot of fun writing this, and while I'm sure I could drag this on for an eternity writing about the mundane goings-on in their lives, let's be realistic and say that everything must come to an end. I've loved interacting with those of you who've left comments, and for those who left me some love, it's returned tenfold, my darlings. ♥♥ Thank you to all of you for the support and encouragement. For the patience and understanding. But most of all, for letting me share this with you! It's been fun!! I love you all so much! **vampire kisses**
> 
> PS - Main story is over, but Epilogue still to come! Stay tuned - I've known what that would be about since I first got the idea! How's that for motivation, eh?? ~_^ xo

Geoffrey found himself uncharacteristically anxious as he entered the sewers. He'd always been a bit on guard whenever he'd needed to go into them in the past, but tonight, it somehow felt more ominous. He supposed that was due, in part, to the fact that Jonathan was in the thick of God knew what, and he had no idea if it was going well or if it was going poorly. _Where are you?_ he thought silently, hoping his voice might reach the raven. He received no answer, and he set his jaw determinedly as he moved deeper into the sewers. He felt the fine hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end as he came to a T-junction, and he paused, looking in both directions for a few seconds before he definitively chose the left. Slowly, his eyes scanned the area. It was eerily quiet, not even a rat could be heard scurrying around, and that only intensified that feeling of foreboding. He walked a few more steps and then, in his mind, he felt such a white-hot stab of pain it literally dropped him to one knee and left him momentarily blinded. When he was finally able to shake it off, he got still-trembling legs under him and his face paled. That had been Jonathan's pain he'd felt!

As much as it hurt Geoffrey to do so, he focused on that pain, following it like a beacon. He moved deeper into the maze of tunnels, and he frowned. Everywhere he went, he could see and smell blood - and then there were the corpses. He saw the slaughtered bodies of the skals, these ones appearing much different from the ones he'd been battling in the streets. He paused, crouching down to take a look at one. It hadn't been the work of his men. There was a cruel, sadistic savagery to it; messy and drawn out, as if it had been personal. Whoever had done it had wanted the skals to suffer. They looked as if they'd been slowly ripped apart by hand, tortured and left to die. Had this been the work of the Disaster? His eyes clouded with worry as he glanced into the darkness of the tunnels. Was Jonathan with… _that_? Standing up, he resumed his search, his pace now a bit more insistent.

Eventually, the run-off tunnel he was following opened up into a large chamber, and he jumped up to the brick catwalk, following this old spillway to its terminus - a massive collection tank. As he drew closer to the drop-off, he could hear the sound of metal on metal, and the occasional grunt of exertion or the jeering laugh of a woman's voice rising up over it. He hurried to the edge and looked down, his eyes going wide in shock at the scene before him. The catch basin was shin-deep with blood, and several deformed, grotesque body parts were caught against the drain screen at the discharge tunnel. Jonathan was in the middle of it, a sword in his right hand, and he was bleeding from his throat from where he'd been bitten. A few feet away stood a creature unlike anything he'd ever seen before. From the shape, Geoffrey could tell it was female, and that it wore an imposing horned helmet, but there were no discernible features on her face. She looked to be made entirely of blood, and in her hands, she carried two sickles she had created from her own form - though as they struck the steel of Jonathan's blade, they had a definite metallic tone.

_Such innocence! Such guilt!_

Geoffrey heard the female voice speak, melodious and dripping with rancor, though the words echoed in his mind, not in the chamber. He watched the creature take a swipe at Jonathan with her weapons, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Jonathan managed to evade the strike. Moments later, a lance of blood hurtled towards him and knocked him backwards into the pool, and then several small humanoid 'children' rose up from the blood and began moving towards the raven. Geoffrey caught his lower lip between his teeth, torn between not interfering and evening the odds. His brow furrowed in concern, relaxing marginally when Jonathan held up his hand and clenched his fist, shadows of his own exploding around the small beasts and destroying some. The raven then grabbed on to one as it prepared to spring, and he held it tightly, feeding from it until it disappeared, and then he turned his focus back to the female.

_How intensely you will suffer when you feel the full weight of my wrath!_

She moved so fast than Geoffrey had a difficult time following her as she appeared right in front of Jonathan to again attack with her sickles. This time, one hooked the raven, digging deeply into his torso. Jonathan cried out in pain when he was viciously torn open and then violently flung away to splash down into the blood. Clumsily, Jonathan got to his feet, and with a determined grunt, he managed to heal some of his own injuries and resume fighting, only to be knocked back down by a savage swipe from the female's claws. Now worried for the raven, he did a quick check of his weapons and prepared to join the melee. He took one step onto the platform, only to find himself frozen in place, as if his blood had suddenly turned solid. It didn't necessarily _hurt_ , but it wasn't the most comfortable sensation for him, either.

_I can let you go no further…_

This time it was a male voice Geoffrey heard in his mind - but it was not Jonathan's. It was soothing and gentle, yet powerful and commanding, and Geoffrey's eyes narrowed slightly. "Show yourself!" he demanded, and his eyes went wide when a similar creature, this one male, and with a very elaborate horned helmet, appeared before him, hovering in the air just off the edge of the platform. "You're with…with _that_!" he exclaimed.

_Yes. And also no._

Geoffrey frowned in confusion. "What the hell does that mean?" he asked. "Either you're its ally or you aren't."

_She is my mother. And she is your mother, as well. It is through the Red Goddess that we all exist._

Geoffrey considered that, still not understanding. "So, are you here to end me now?" he asked, and he narrowed his eyes as he studied the man before him. His aura was so powerful it almost hurt to be close to him, and Geoffrey just knew he was very old. Ancient. He was undoubtedly a blood drinker, but not a vampire in the traditional sense. Definitely not an Ekon anyway.

The man seemed amused by the question. _No. I will not harm you, Childe of my Childe. But I cannot allow you to interfere. This task is his and his alone._

"You're Reid's Maker!" Geoffrey was surprised. Jonathan had told him his sire had been old, but he'd not said much more than that. Now that he'd met him, Geoffrey understood why - this creature really did defy description, and Jonathan's choice of 'ghostly' seemed apt. And it also explained why Jonathan was so strong for a newborn. "Who are you? Hell, _what_ are you?"

The entity chuckled softly. _Yes, he is my son. And I have many names, Childe. I shall give you the same one I gave to him: Myrddin Wyllt._

Geoffrey's head was starting to hurt from how quickly his thoughts were spinning. He knew the old legends, but until now, that was all they'd ever been: stories told to children. "But, how are you even a vampire? You're made of blood!"

_No, I am blood. Born of the terrible Queen directly, and protector of this land._

"Enough of this! Do you know what you've asked him to do? A body can be killed. How the hell is he supposed to kill blood?" Geoffrey demanded in frustration, and when he looked down into the room, he saw that Jonathan was back on his feet, but struggling. The raven tried to dodge the Red Queen's attack, but when the blood exploded up around his feet, he was knocked back down, and she grabbed hold of him.

_Feed your mother, Childe._

The queen's words were malevolently spoken as her head moved to Jonathan's throat. As she drank, that agonizing stab of pain that he'd felt earlier in the sewers tore through his entire body, only stronger for his proximity to Jonathan. And when he both heard and felt Jonathan's agonized shout, Geoffrey let out a strangled one of his own as he struggled hard with everything he had against the restraint that had been put on him. It was difficult, and Geoffrey was exhausted from the effort, but with a triumphant snarl, he broke free of the invisible bond and tried again for the platform. He'd almost made it when he was again frozen, and this time, it _did_ hurt when he was stopped. He growled as he fought, but he knew that escape would not be possible a second time.

Again, Myrddin chuckled. _I can see why he chose you as his Progeny. It has been a very long time since I have seen another quite like you…a rare Childe. You are both sword well-tempered and shield adamantine, the mighty hunter. He has created a powerful ally in you. And you in him._

"Then let me go to him!" Geoffrey said, and he watched Jonathan fight to stand up, another wave of the blood children rising to swarm him. "You've sent him on a suicide mission. If he finds a way to kill that creature, he'll end himself, too. If he doesn't manage it, the beast will kill him."

_No. There is a third option, Childe. Not all battles must be fought to the death. Some merely require but a single act of defiance to stem the tides of destruction._

"Single act? Look at him! He's been fighting for how long now?" Geoffrey snorted in frustration, and tried again to escape - unsuccessfully. He loosed a furious snarl of frustration as he remained bound and unable to help, though he was glad to see that Jonathan had fed off another couple of the small creatures and was able to heal some of his more aggressive injuries.

_For longer than you can know, Childe. He has suffered greatly since he was reborn. And yet, from that darkness he has found a point of light to inspire him. He has cast aside his own grief to fight in defense of all, and yet in his heart, he battles for just one. He has already destroyed my Goddess's Disaster, immune to the rancorous poison that flowed so freely through it from our most hateful mother. He is weakening her hold over this city. He is the reluctant saviour, my Champion Bittersweet._

Geoffrey frowned. "You're not making a bloody bit of sense," he replied, though a very uncomfortable feeling passed over him as something about Myrddin's words rang very familiar. He just couldn't recall _where_ he'd heard it and it left him feeling very unsettled.

 _Really? I had thought my words to be crystal clear in light of our conversation._ Myrddin turned towards the chamber, observing. _When the swords have fallen silent and the Goddess again slumbers, perhaps then you will understand._

Geoffrey sneered, though before he could make further commentary, he felt the energy of the space shift, and he turned his attention back to the catch basin. Jonathan held his hand out in front of him, eyes closed, as he drew on his own energy and called to the shadows around him. Gritting his teeth, he pushed everything he had into catching the Red Queen in the darkness, the inky tendrils wending around her legs and snaking around her arms and throat, binding her with their cold blackness. Suddenly, she was violently thrown into the air, and then impaled through the heart with a spike of pure shadow. Geoffrey's eyes were wide as he watched the display of power, and he grimaced slightly when she shrieked in pain. While the shadows still bound her, Jonathan pulled the pistol Geoffrey had given him, cocked it, and unloaded all nine rounds into her heart. Finally, with his last ounce of strength, he took his sword and plunged it through her chest, piercing her heart before stumbling back a pace, reloading, and waiting. A horrific screech echoed through the chamber, and then the Red Queen stilled, sinking slowly below the surface of the blood pool. "Yes!" Geoffrey quietly cheered, outwardly relieved, and beyond impressed with Jonathan's fighting skills.

Jonathan bent over at the waist, hands on his knees, and panted softly, trying to catch his breath so that he could deal with the different types of wounds that throbbed painfully everywhere on his body. The cuts and scratches would heal on their own, but he ached from the Red Queen's bite. She had been brutal in her execution, and each time, she'd drained him nearly to the point of collapse. But, she was defeated. He'd just expected it to be somewhat more climactic than that. "So, is it over?" he asked to the empty room. A couple of seconds passed in silence, and then the Red Queen shot out of the crimson fluid, and hovered easily in the air, undamaged and radiating the full force of her power.

"No!" Geoffrey shouted, eyes wide, and he watched as Jonathan pointed the pistol at her in warning as he attempted to locate his sword in the pool of blood. Snarling, Geoffrey fought fiercely against Myrddin's trap. "Release me!"

Myrddin cocked his head to the side, watching as Geoffrey weakened, but failed to break, his restraint. _No. It is over, Childe. He has prevailed. Did I not tell you already, not every victory must be absolute? There is nothing for you to do now in this fight. However, I shall keep you bound for now, not to punish you, but so that you may observe, and learn._ He disappeared then, reappearing at the Red Queen's side.

The Red Queen turned from Jonathan and pivoted to face Myrddin. _Do you think your Champion defeated me, my child?_ she asked him with no small amount of scorn.

 _No one could ever defeat you, mother of us all,_ Myrddin replied gently, as if placating a petulant child. _You have shown them the completeness your cruel example. It is time for you to return to your slumber, My Queen._

_Did they suffer enough, my son?_

_As always. And more._

The Red Queen made a pleased sound. _Then until the next time…_ With that, she raised her arms, and then disappeared down the grating, the pool of blood and Harriet Jones' body both vanishing with her to leave no trace of the terrible fight that had just occurred.

Jonathan let out a relieved sigh. His injuries remained, but he didn't look like he'd just been swimming in blood. He stooped to pick up his sword, and when he stood, Myrddin was gone. He snorted softly. "You're welcome," he said darkly to the empty space. He was exhausted, and he wanted to get out of the sewer and go home. _Though…where is home?_ he found himself wondering.

 _Jonathan…_ Geoffrey heard the raven's thought, and tried to reach out to him, but whatever it was that Myrddin had done to him, it seemed to be blocking his attempts. "Bollocks!" he shouted, and even at that, it looked like Jonathan couldn't see or hear him.

"So it is over then? You have put an end to this, young Ekon?" a woman's voice called from the far side of the chamber. Geoffrey tensed, redoubling his efforts to escape when Jonathan drew his sword. The voice was different from the Red Queen's, but then, he'd not heard her speak aloud, either.

"Old Bridget!" Jonathan breathed when he saw the woman appear on the platform. "I saw what Harriet Jones did to the other sewer skals, how she utterly massacred them. I thought you'd been slaughtered along with them!" He offered a smile. "I'm so glad to learn that wasn't so." 

Geoffrey arched a brow, curious as to the identity of this _Old Bridget_ and how Jonathan had come to make her acquaintance. He could feel the bond on him weakening as more time passed, and after a bit more struggling, he was able to break free, though he remained where he was, silently observing. He had a feeling that Myrddin had measures in place to make sure he stayed put, anyway.

"No, I was on the surface looking for help when Harriet suddenly became that… _thing_. I am glad to know that we are safe, though I do come bearing other troubling news."

"Oh?" Jonathan replied. "What could be more troubling than what we just faced?"

"It is in regards to the Lady Ashbury."

"Elisabeth?" Jonathan frowned, and after moment's pause, he shadow jumped to join her on the platform. "Please, tell me more," he said as they moved deeper into the tunnel.

No longer able to hear the conversation, Geoffrey's eyes narrowed and he frowned. He could not fault Jonathan for his concern over Lady Ashbury. He knew that they were good friends, and were the situation reversed, if it was one of his guards in trouble, he would go to assist them without hesitation. Still, despite the logic behind it, it still rankled him, that small flicker of jealousy rearing its head. Curious about what was going on, Geoffrey hesitantly jumped down to the grating. When he was met with no resistance, he moved up to the platform that Jonathan and Bridget had stood on, intending to follow. At the junction, he found himself at a seeming dead end, two paths ending with sealed doors, the third blocked off by iron grating. His brows went up in surprise. He had no idea where they'd gone, and with a frustrated growl, he returned the way he'd come and headed outside. Jonathan would return to Pembroke eventually, and he would wait for him there. However, when dawn approached and Jonathan's room remained dark, Geoffrey returned to his own room a mixture of worry, petulance, and irritation.

His mood hadn't improved any by the following night. If anything, between the scouts reporting that they'd seen Jonathan leaving town in his family's car the previous night, not knowing what was going on, and waking up ravenous, he was even tetchier than usual. After snarling viciously at Millar when he'd knocked on his door and scaring the complete shit out of him, Geoffrey decided he needed to get away from Priwen Headquarters before he did something he'd later regret. If he could hunt and feed, he figured he might not necessarily be any more pleasant to be around, but he'd at least be a lot more stable.

He headed for the riverbank and walked slowly along the quay, watching and listening. The various shipping offices were closed for the night, and the warehouses sat silent. Barges bobbed noiselessly in the water, while behind a tall wrought iron fence, a few boats sat in dry dock, waiting to be repaired. It was not a pleasant place to be during the day, and even less of one at night. Before the epidemic had hit, it had been a popular hangout for petty thugs, and a wayward citizen wandering through could expect to lose his wallet if he was lucky. His life if he wasn't. Now, the criminal element had mostly vanished because of the number of unexplained disappearances that happened there, but that didn't make it any less dangerous. People desperate for money often ransacked the mechanic shops and warehouses at night, looking to sell whatever they could find on the black market, and of course, there were the sewer beasts and feral skals to worry about. The high number of looters and vagrants there made it easy hunting grounds for them, and they could feed with relative ease. Geoffrey knew this because at least once a week, one of the patrols would do a sweep of the area and eliminate them.

Geoffrey stopped when he heard the shriek of a skal nearby, and after scenting the air, he headed towards the sound, drawing his sword. He passed through a dark alley, moving behind a row of medium-sized warehouses to the central railyard. He ducked through an open boxcar, and came around a wagon to find two skals in the process of ripping apart a freshly killed man. Geoffrey could still smell the human blood on the air, and from the haphazardly discarded satchel that lay a few feet away, he surmised it had been a robber that had gotten caught. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the two, his hunger rising. With a low growl, he shadow jumped behind them, and drove his sword through the back of the first, piercing its heart. Releasing his hold on the weapon, he grabbed the second, forcing its head back and grabbing its wrist as he sank his fangs into its throat and drank. With each swallow, Geoffrey could feel his hunger abating, the energy singing through every nerve ending, and when there was no more to take, he tore himself away with a satisfied grunt. Licking his lips, he wrenched his sword free, then turned and beheaded the second skal before pausing, eyes closed for a moment, as he let the euphoria wash over him, warming him and calming him.

As he blinked his eyes open and came back to the present, he definitely felt a lot more in control of himself. He brushed his thumb over his mouth and licked the last of the blood from it, wiped his sword clean on the filthy shirttails the skal had worn, and then, ever the opportunist, went over to inspect the dead man's satchel. Inside, he found a few boxes of small-bore ammunition, a couple of spools of copper wire, some hand tools, and a pistol. A brow arched. It wasn't worth much, but he knew his men could put it to use. Slinging it over his body, he made his way back to the river and headed north. He paused when he reached the stone bridge that spanned the water, and he looked across towards Pembroke. Jonathan's room was still dark, and he scowled as he turned away. He worried, too, and yet he felt that it didn't seem to matter to the raven. He knew he was being foolish, but it had hurt that Jonathan had left without a word and part of him felt as if Jonathan had chosen Elisabeth over him. With a frustrated snort, he crossed under the gateway that brought him back into the Whitechapel district proper, trying not to think about it. His frown deepened once he was there, and he slowed his pace some, his senses on alert. He went a little farther up the street and then, with a sneer, he drew his sword as he shadow jumped to the mouth of an alley. He grabbed the body there and slammed it against the brick wall, the edge of his blade pressed against the throat as he bared his fangs. The petite woman gave a startled scream, pale green eyes wide as she stared back at him. "If you're going to be foolish enough to follow me, skal, do it from upwind. I've been smelling rosewater and damp for three blocks and it's turning my stomach," he snarled. "What do you want?"

Bridget continued to stare wide-eyed up at Geoffrey. The man was at least a foot taller than her, and while that wouldn't normally intimidate her, she could not recall a time she'd ever been looked at with such hate before. When Jonathan had asked her to seek out Geoffrey, she'd balked at the idea of willingly going to the leader of Priwen. Jonathan had understood her reluctance, but had assured her that the brunet could be reasonable, and that she would not be harmed, but in that moment, she wondered if perhaps her friend had been wrong. "You are Geoffrey McCullum?" she asked, knowing that he was.

"Aye."

"I come bearing a message for you from Doctor Jonathan Reid."

Geoffrey's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Reid left town last night. He can't have given you a message."

She wasn't surprised that Geoffrey knew. His scouts were efficient and effective, a reputation well earned. "He gave it to me last night, but you are a difficult Ekon to locate. And your patrols do not afford me the luxury of easy travel on the surface."

Geoffrey considered that for a few seconds, his expression contemplative. He looked into her eyes for a moment, and then took a half-pace back, standing down and slipping his sword back into the scabbard. "Well? Speak up, then," he said gruffly. "And if this is some trick, I will end you."

"Thank you," Bridget said as she brought a hand to her throat and wiped the blood from her skin, the superficial cut already healed. "I am a friend of Doctor Reid's," she said as she straightened the black lace veil over her hair.

"I know who you are," Geoffrey said as he continued to stare hard at her. "They call you Old Bridget."

Bridget's brows went up in genuine surprise. She had not expected Geoffrey to be aware of her. "Indeed. Anyway, last night he brought an end to the suffering that has been plaguing London. I spoke to him afterwards, bearing grim tidings about his friend, the dear Lady Ashbury. After all he'd just endured, I debated telling him, but knew he would want to help her if he could. To that end, he apologizes for leaving so abruptly, and swears that he will explain everything to you once he returns in a couple of days, but time was of the essence. Lady Ashbury left town in quite an agitated humour. He is concerned that in her present fragile state of mind she might harm herself, and he has gone to make sure she does not."

"I see," Geoffrey said flatly, and he clenched his jaw tightly. Again, he could not fault Jonathan for his actions, but the raven's departure still stung, and he couldn't help but feel just a bit of bitterness towards Her Ladyship. "Well…thanks," he said after a moment. "Your task's completed. I won't stop you from going back to your sewer."

"There was one more thing," she said. "He said for you to be careful. He warned that there is one more devil in London he needs to find when he returns, and he will see him beg."

Geoffrey gave her a curious look, and then a brow arched and he smirked slowly. "Well, happy hunting to him," Geoffrey replied with a note of amusement. The cryptic message had worked. He felt considerably better about how things had been left - as he was sure Jonathan had intended. Giving her a tilt of his chin in thanks, he put his hands in his pockets and turned to go.

"Ekon, wait!" Bridget called, and when Geoffrey glanced over his shoulder and arched a brow, she said, "May I ask you a question?"

Geoffrey glanced away, considering the request, and then shrugged as he turned to face her. "Why not?"

"As a skal, I have often been treated with disgust or contempt, but I have never been looked at with such hate by an Ekon before. Are you so arrogant that you think you hold privilege over me simply by right of your blood?"

Geoffrey's brows went up in shock, and he was obviously surprised by the question. Then he frowned in indignant irritation. "I don't think I'm superior to you. I just despise leeches. All leeches, be they Ekon, vulkod or skal. But skals are the worst. I _loathe_ the skals."

"Why?" she demanded, her noble past coming forward to lend an air of dignity and grace to her petite stature. "The sewer skals are peaceful and keep to themselves. We have done nothing wrong to incur such rancour from you."

Geoffrey arched a brow at the retort, and then his eyes narrowed to hateful slits. "No? It was a filthy skal and its poisonous bite that made me like this. If Doctor Reid hadn't turned me, I'd have become one of those disgusting, shrieking beasts, dribbling on myself and feeding on putrid, stinking corpses." He snorted as his mouth curved further downward. "I'd say I've got a good reason for hating skals," he hissed.

Bridget stared at him wide-eyed. "That is not possible. Skals, we…we are unable to create Progeny. It is one of our many limitations."

"That may be so, but this epidemic…changed the skals. They _infect_ humans. They're vermin - violent, mindless, driven solely by hunger. There's no cure. He tried."

"Some can be stabilized," Bridget argued. "Sean Hampton, for example. He was never like those poor, piteous creatures. He was given an infusion of Ekon blood, and he is like us now. Maybe there is hope for the others?"

Geoffrey considered that. "You'd have to ask Doctor Reid about that; I wouldn't know. I do know that the one that bit me, there was nothing human left. Reid even agrees with me that the feral ones need to be eliminated. Sometimes things are too far gone to be helped."

Bridget pressed her lips into a thin line, and nodded stiffly. "So. You'll just slaughter us all, then? Exterminate every skal in order to satisfy your need for revenge?"

Geoffrey's scowl deepened. "I didn't say that. You're still alive, yeah?" He shifted his gaze away. "You're the first skal I've actually had a conversation with. The others I've dealt with, they just see me as…food."

"As I said, the sewer skals are peaceful. You do not have to worry about us."

Geoffrey gave her a very flat look. "Was Harriet Jones in your care?" he asked, and when Bridget wrapped her arms around her body and glanced away, he snorted dismissively. "Thought so. You trusted her, and look what happened to your community. I saw the bodies. It was savage."

Bridget bowed her head. "I erred with Harriet. What happened to the others, I will carry that guilt for many years. Believe me, I will not be so careless with whom I admit in the future." She glanced up at him. "I do not trust the Ekon, and yet I have found friends in two of them. Perhaps one day, that number might be more."

Geoffrey's jaw tightened. "I don't find you that objectionable," he said gruffly. "It's in me to take your words as truth, but you're going to have to prove yourself to me."

"What are you asking for? We will not subjugate ourselves to you," she replied.

"I'm not asking you to. But you need to convince me the sewer skals are different from the vile beasts that roam up here. We're not friends yet, and we may never be, but if you don't cause me grief, don't give me a reason to hunt you, then I have no reason to send my patrols into your territory." He glanced away from her. "Understand that this is difficult for me, to cast aside the things I've always so strongly believed in."

"Difficult, yes. But I understand the reason for your animosity now, and the fact that you are still willing to make an attempt will not be forgotten." She put a hand on his forearm, a small smile rising when she felt him tense at the touch, but he didn't pull away. "I will make the attempt, too."

He nodded stiffly. "The next time I'm in your sewers, you'll show me the boundaries of your territory, and we'll mark them. But as I said, if your people give me a reason to be there, you can damned well believe I won't knock first."

Bridget arched a brow, a hint of a smile on her face. "I heard about what happened at the Ascalon Club. Do not worry, young Ekon. We will take your warning to heart." Giving him a small curtsey, she stepped back into the shadows of the alley.

Geoffrey couldn't help the smirk when she mentioned the club, though he gave a polite nod in return when she made her goodbyes. He could see her eyes shining from the darkness, though after a couple of seconds, he could no longer sense her presence. "Hn." He stood there for a while, hands in his pockets and contemplating his conversation with Bridget. A small frown creased his brow. His world was becoming less black and white and infinitely more grey with each passing day. And, now that the epidemic was over and he'd called off the Great Hunt, he didn't know what the future would bring for him, neither professionally nor personally. Especially personally. Being the only vampire among humans presented its own unique challenges. Not to mention, as time passed he would stay the same, but would watch those he cared most about in the Guard grow old and die. It was something he didn't particularly want to think about. And then there was Jonathan, which was a whole other entity unto itself. "Bollocks," he muttered.

"Sir?"

Geoffrey turned, his eyes narrowing when he saw Millar standing behind him, his rifle slung, a two-foot long twisted metal spike in his hands. His sergeant kept his distance, but gave him a small, hesitant smile, and his frown deepened. "What are you doing here? And where the hell's your patrol?"

"I heard you talking to that lady leech, so I sent them off to join up with the patrol on the other end of the block - they've found a whole nest of the bastards and I figured they could use the hands." Millar rested the end of the spike casually against his shoulder. "I thought that maybe you and me, we could hunt together for a bit. Like old times. It's been donkey's years."

Despite his earlier irritation with the other, Geoffrey did smirk. "Yeah. You were a promising cadet. And a damned good shot with a rifle. Still are." He gave him a curious look. "You're sure you want to come with me? I'm not great company, and I think I shocked Cox and Foster the other night."

Miller nodded. "Yeah, they told me and Hughes about it, that they were pretty gobsmacked by what they saw. But so you know, you didn't put them off or anything. It's just getting used to how you do things now, is all." He met Geoffrey's eyes. "I know you've got a lot on your plate. More than usual with all this… _leech stuff_ ," he said as he gestured towards the brunet. _I miss you…miss the one-on-one…_ "So yeah, I'm sure. Least I know you've got my back." 

Geoffrey's gaze narrowed slightly, an amused snort following when he heard Millar's silent thought. "Yeah, all right. Where are we hunting?" he asked, following Millar as he ducked down an alley.

"Nowhere specific. Thought I might try the Quarantine Area. There's usually something wicked lurking about." They walked over a stone footbridge, and Millar paused to look down into the floodway beneath. He glanced sidelong at Geoffrey, studying him carefully for a few seconds. "You look better now than you did…earlier," he said hesitantly.

"Yeah, well…" Geoffrey sniffed and trailed off with a shrug. "Dinner helped some."

Millar grimaced slightly at the image that evoked in his mind, but quickly let it go. "Mm. I'd bet so," he agreed. He worried his lower lip with his teeth for a moment, and then forced himself to speak further about what was really on his mind. "But it's more than that, innit?" He saw the look Geoffrey fixed him with - a combination of curiosity and warning - but he pressed on. "I know why you've been a right prick tonight, Sir."

"That so?" Geoffrey replied as the beginnings of a scowl started to curve his mouth downwards, the frown deepening when he heard Millar think Jonathan's name.

Millar nodded. "You're worried about Doctor Reid."

"Fuck off; you don't know anything," Geoffrey replied hotly, and he stepped off the footbridge, dropping fifteen feet to the spillway below.

"McCullum, wait!" Millar huffed in frustration, and then sighed. "Bollocks!" He slipped the spike into the ring at his hip, rested his elbows on the stone railing and raised his rifle, following Geoffrey through his scope. He saw a skal ahead of the brunet, and one coming up behind him, and taking aim, he shot the trailing one in the back of the head, dropping it, and leaving Geoffrey take care of the one in front of him. He spied an access ladder, and he went around the bridge and started to climb down into the floodway, dropping the last couple of feet to the ground. By the time he found Geoffrey, the brunet had taken out the skal he'd seen, and a third one he hadn't.

"Nice shot," Geoffrey replied, a note of irritation still in his voice.

"Thanks," Millar replied flatly as he kicked the one corpse hard in the side to make sure it was truly dead. "I was thinking, if this is over now, what's going to happen to Doctor Reid? I mean, he can't go back to Pembroke. That place is dodgy as fuck, and Swansea gives me the all-overs." He paused. "Do you think he'll stay in London?"

Geoffrey frowned, a hint of a sneer drawing his upper lip back. "Why the hell do you care so much what happens to Reid?" he demanded.

Millar glanced away. "Because _you_ do." Millar could feel the heat from the glare he was receiving, and it sent a thrill of fear down his spine, but he licked his lower lip and continued. "You always turn into the biggest arsehole when you're worrying about someone you care about. I've watched you enough to know." He felt his ears turn pink with the admission, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I know you like him. We all know. We suspected when you made him off-limits to everyone but you, and when you talk about him, you seem…I don't know…content."

"It's not your concern, Millar!"

"It concerns you, so yes, it is!" Millar tightened his jaw and stared obstinately back at Geoffrey despite how hard his heart was beating in his chest. At twenty-three, he might have been the youngest sergeant in the history of Priwen (save for Geoffrey, of course!), but he was good at reading people, and he wasn't stupid - or about to let his leader make a mistake he'd live to regret. "You can be pissed at me again if you want to, Sir, but you-" He closed his eyes, trying to keep it together under the weight of that glare. _You mean the world to me…and I want you to be happy…_ "We worry. I know you hate that we do, Sir, but we do worry about you. Maybe a bit more now."

"Why?"

"You're a vampire among vampire hunters."

Geoffrey arched a brow. "So? I won't let myself hurt any of you, no matter how much you irritate me."

Millar smiled a little. "We know, Sir. We all know you'd end yourself first before you'd go full leech on any of us. And I know you're just taking the piss with me when you threaten to eat me. But it's not that. I guess we worry because we don't really know how to help you get what you might need, being that we're all humans. So, when you buggered off tonight, we talked things over during dinner."

"Did you now?" Geoffrey's eyes narrowed. "You should all mind your own!"

"And _you_ should let those who love and care about you do just that! God! This is for your own good, so will you just shut it for a minute, let me finish, and listen? You're so bloody… _stubborn_ it drives me mad!" Millar screwed his eyes closed as his frustration mounted. "You don't think less of us for letting you help us, so why are you so sodding different? Yeah, we all know you're a big, bad vampire who can probably kick the arse of the entirety of leech society with one hand tied behind his back! But just because you _can_ , it doesn't mean you have to do it by yourself, you giant fucking _prat_!" Suddenly, his brain caught up to his mouth, and he gaped at the brunet in horror. _Oh shite…_ "Erm…"

Geoffrey blinked in shock when Millar exploded, and the longer he went on, dressing him down, the more his anger ebbed away. By the time Millar paused, he wore a crooked smirk, his expression one of obvious amusement. He held up a hand, gesturing for the other to continue. "Please, do go on. Don't let me stop you."

Miller flushed darkly. "I-I'm sorry, Sir. I-we just think you should ask him to come stay with us. All of us agreed - even Jackson, and you know what a prig he can be. If he's got nowhere to go, and you'd be happier for the company, why the hell not?"

Geoffrey arched a brow. "I can't. He's a leech! You want him to be a part of Priwen?"

"Yeah, so what? He's a leech. And a doctor. And a soldier. He'd be pretty fucking useful, I think." Millar smirked. "Besides, we've got you, vampire, and the place hasn't blown apart yet. How bad could it be having another one of you bastards along?"

Geoffrey frowned, even as he found himself seriously considering it. "I don't even know if he'd be interested."

"So, _ask_ him." Millar chuckled. "You're a genius for most things, but you're bloody daft sometimes when it comes to people. Bates sent Kane to watch Pembroke, and Tipton's watching the Reid estate, both with orders to report the second they see him come back." Millar suddenly raised his rifle and cocked it.

"Millar! What the hell-"

"Don't move," Millar said evenly, eyes narrowed as he fired his shot.

The round flew precariously close to Geoffrey's ear, the brunet turning just in time to see a skal drop from mid-pounce to the ground, dead. Geoffrey blinked, stunned. He'd been lost in his thoughts about Jonathan and hadn't heard it drawing near. With some sheepishness, he thought about how that was how he'd landed in his current predicament in the first place. He turned back to Millar, who was grinning widely.

"I've always got your back, Sir," he said as he slung his weapon. "Trust me on this. I wouldn't bullshit you. But, we're drawing the line at two vampires, so you'll have to make do."

"You're an arsehole."

Millar's grin went criminal. "Yeah. But I'm _your_ arsehole."

Geoffrey snorted. "Just shut it, and let's go hunt something else."

By the time the two returned to Priwen Headquarters just before four, they'd cleaned out about one quarter of the Quarantine Area. Of course, there would be more in the area in a couple of days, but it had been a successful night. Millar sat outside on a bench in the courtyard with a cup of tea, Geoffrey next to him, and they were watching Cox and Hughes throw stones at Finney in what they claimed was a 'modified, urban version of bowls'. "How long is he going to be our guest?" Millar asked.

Geoffrey shrugged. "Until I get bored of having him around," he said, and when Hughes pegged a good shot off of Finney's burnt and peeling forehead, he smirked, though he did glance over when Foster approached.

"Kane and Tipton are back, Sir," Foster said. "Doctor Reid's returned to Pembroke."

Millar nudged Geoffrey. "Go on and ask him, Sir. It'll be good for everyone."

"I will swat you, Millar," Geoffrey warned evenly as he stood, and he nodded his thanks to Foster. "If Bates starts having a fit, let him know I'll be back, yeah?"

Millar nodded, and once Geoffrey had left, he called to Cox and Hughes, "Oi! Me and Foster have next game!"

"Pack of bloody idiots," Geoffrey thought with affectionate amusement of his sergeants as he left Priwen Headquarters, though as he walked, his mind focused on Jonathan, and what he was going to say to him. Very unhelpfully, his brain conjured up several different scenarios, none of them ideal, and by the time he reached the bridge to cross the river, he was feeling somewhat anxious, uncertain, and more than a little bit emotionally vulnerable. For a long time he stood there, watching Jonathan's room. The lights were up, and every once in a while, he'd see a shadow pass in front of a lamp. _Do you even know I'm here_? he wondered as he cautiously crossed the bridge and stood on the cobblestones, away from the light of the streetlamp. _You're such a fucking coward_! he chastised himself, and before he could change his mind, he made the jump to the balcony. He felt like a stalker as he stood in the doorway, and he realized that Millar was right. He was daft when it came to people. He caught the scent of Jonathan's cologne on the air, and he raised his head, taking a deeper sniff. The smell of it warmed him, and his eyes narrowed slightly as his desire to see the raven took over. Setting his jaw, he gave a sharp rap to the doorframe and waited.

"I was wondering how long you were going to stand out there," Jonathan said as he came around the corner from his laboratory and smiled warmly at the brunet. "A few minutes longer, and I would have started to worry that you'd gone home." He beckoned to the other. "Come in, Geoffrey."

The brunet hesitated as he studied the doorframe, and then held up a cautious hand to test before he stepped through the opening and into Jonathan's room. "…Thanks." He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly awkward. "I…got your message. Did things go all right?"

Jonathan nodded. "Yes. Lady Ashbury is going to remain at her castle for a few weeks to get her affairs there in order, and then plans to travel for a while before returning to England. I have promised I'd try to help treat her condition, perhaps even find a cure." 

"Cure? I thought that vampires were immune to human diseases."

"They are. But this is something else. Remember when I was telling you about facing Harriet Jones and needing an antidote to her poison?" When Geoffrey nodded, he told him about the Blood of Hate, and then shared what he could of Elisabeth's condition, and explained what Edgar had unknowingly unleashed when he'd started experimenting with tainted blood. "She is concerned that she might be used in that way again in the future, and wanted to destroy herself to prevent it from happening."

Geoffrey sniffed and glanced away. "It's a valid concern," he agreed. "Would the cure work on all vampires?"

Jonathan chuckled. "Let me see if I can cure her at least before we start worrying about vampire society as a whole." He picked up a stack of journals and put them into a packing box that was sitting on the laboratory bench.

Geoffrey frowned when he saw that there were actually several boxes there, some filled, some in the process of being filled. "What are you doing?"

"Packing my personal things. I don't think it would be prudent for me to remain here."

"Yeah," Geoffrey agreed. "I don't think I'm overly welcome here either, after my last visit." When he saw the confused frown, he smirked and offered a cavalier shrug. "I may have pinned Swansea to his desk by his hands and left him there."

Jonathan's brows went up, and then he chuckled softly. "No, I'd imagine he wasn't overly pleased. But apparently he called for a car earlier this evening, I was told. Whatever injuries he sustained, I'd say he's none the worse for it."

"Pity," Geoffrey said with no small amount of disappointment. He glanced at Jonathan, his lips pressed into a thin line. "So, where are you going to go, then?" Geoffrey asked, wondering if Lady Ashbury had invited him to go with her…wherever that was. "I'd imagine she's got things all planned out, yeah?" he continued, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. "Women like to plan details, I hear."

"What?" Jonathan looked genuinely surprised by the question, though after a moment, he smiled gently and shook his head. "I'm not going with Elisabeth," he said. "She wanted me to come with her, but I explained to her why I could not. With some reluctance, she permitted me to take some samples of her blood, and has promised to keep in contact with me, should I require more."

"Oh." Geoffrey felt unusually relieved by that bit of news. "So what _are_ your plans then?"

"Other than my research, I don't really have any," Jonathan said. "For now, I suppose I can go back to my family home, work from there. Maybe I can volunteer my services at the free dispensary in Whitechapel. Or lecture at some of the medical colleges."

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes as he studied Jonathan, and he stared into the pale blue. An awkward, uncomfortable shrug followed. "Or you could come to Priwen with me. Hunt with me."

Jonathan arched a brow. "A hunter? Me?" He saw Geoffrey nod. "I'm no hunter."

"Bullshit," Geoffrey said. "You're a predator, like me, and I've seen that dark side to you." _I like that side of you…_ he thought as a pleasant shiver ran down his spine. "Plus, I've watched you fight. I was there when you took on those skals in the cemetery, and I saw the end of your fight with the Red Queen."

"You did?"

"Aye. I wanted to help you, but your Maker stopped me from interfering," Geoffrey muttered sullenly.

Jonathan's brows went up in surprise. "He introduced himself to you?"

"If you can call it that." Geoffrey snorted impatiently and rolled his eyes. "Myrddin Wyllt. Master of not making sense, and supreme pain in my arse."

Jonathan laughed. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who thought so."

Geoffrey smirked, and then sobered. "But yeah, so I know you can fight. I can show you how to be even better, how to listen to your instincts. This epidemic might be over, but there are still all those infected skals to deal with, and maybe you'll find clues to your research hidden away in Priwen's vault. If you teach me about what you do, I can help with your experiments."

The idea of Geoffrey taking an interest in his work warmed him, and the raven knew without a doubt that he was clever enough to learn it. Still, Jonathan shook his head. "But it's Priwen! I'd be a vampire among vampire hunters!" He saw Geoffrey arch a brow as if to say _Really?_ He did offer a somewhat sheepish smile. "All right, a fair point. But you've always been a part of them. Would they even want me there?"

"Aye. They would." Geoffrey chuckled. "They took a vote, apparently. They all agreed, and that's saying something since they can't bloody agree on anything else. I know you didn't believe me, but I told you they liked you - even if you are a leech." He smiled when Jonathan laughed. "Millar made a good point. We could use a proper doctor and a trained soldier…and God knows we need someone who can keep me in line."

Jonathan laughed harder. "True enough, you can be a tetchy bastard. But can the lone wolf be tamed?"

Geoffrey shook his head. "The lone wolf is a myth. If you see one, it's because he's either had, and lost, or he's still searching. Wolves hunt in pairs." He met the arctic blue, and even as he felt his face heat, he pressed on. "I heard your voice last night. You wondered where home was. Come home. With me. Hunt with me."

Jonathan put a hand to Geoffrey's cheek, his eyes lidding as he brushed his thumb along the roughened stubble. "That's what you would want?" 

Geoffrey cocked his head to the side as he studied the other, and then a slow smirk quirked the corners of his mouth upwards. "You tell me," he murmured as he placed his hands on the sides of Jonathan's face and closed the distance between them, capturing his lips in a hungry, possessive kiss. _…I want you, Jonathan…_

Jonathan let his eyes flutter closed, his arms going around Geoffrey to pull him closer as he reacquainted himself with his taste and the feel of his tongue. Shifting away, he caught Geoffrey's lower lip between his own, and gave a playful nip. He savoured the teasing hint of blood and purred lowly as a comfortable warmth spread through him, and then released him completely. He peered at Geoffrey through half-lidded eyes and smiled gently as he again put a hand on the other's cheek, gazing deep into the darker blue. "I can do that," he said softly.

Geoffrey put his hand over Jonathan's, and gave a brief squeeze before he dropped it away. The tip of his tongue curled around a fang, and then a small, pert smile turned the corners of Geoffrey's lips up. "Was this how you intended to make this devil beg?"

Jonathan arched a brow, and then smirked wolfishly. "Not exactly," he replied as he let his hand slide back into the short hair at Geoffrey's nape. "You make it easy when I don't have to track you down, though."

"So maybe I should run. Make you hunt me."

Jonathan's grasp tightened, and he flicked the tip of his tongue over the end of Geoffrey's chin, following that with a playful drag of teeth. "Hn. I'd prefer if you'd stop running and stay."

Geoffrey's eyes shuttered, and he purred softly at the teasing touches. "Ah, but you've not eaten yet, Doctor Reid. I can tell to look at you."

Jonathan smirked as he loosened his tie with his free hand and unfastened the top button of his shirt. "No. I haven't. But I plan to."

"Is that a fact?"

Jonathan's smirk turned positively criminal. "Mmhmm. And I know what I'm hungry for."

Geoffrey let his tongue skim slowly along his upper lip, and then he narrowed his eyes and peered at Jonathan through his brows, a very smug expression settling on his face. "Well?" he murmured, his grin widening as he stepped back a pace to slip the crossbow off his arm. He tossed it onto a mayo stand, and then unbuckled his sword belt and let it fall to the floor. As he had the night he'd freed Jonathan from the Ascalon Club, he held his arms out to his sides in open invitation, and he purred, "Tuck in, then!"

Jonathan's expression turned very predatory, and he bared his fangs. "Come here, devil."

"Nah. You want me, blood drinker? Come get me."

Jonathan arched a brow, and then he smirked. "Very well, hunter," he replied as he took a step towards Geoffrey, his expression wolfish. "Then expect no mercy." He grabbed the brunet, and with a dark chuckle, shadow jumped them both to the other side of the fabric partition that divided Jonathan's sleeping area from the rest of his office. With a low growl, he backed Geoffrey hard into the wall and then kissed him hungrily, his hands fumbling blindly for the opening of Geoffrey's trench coat. When he'd located the lapels, he roughly jerked the garment off the other's shoulders, loosely trapping him within the sleeves as he began undoing the buttons on the brunet's shirt. He tugged Geoffrey's scarf free and tossed it carelessly to the floor, and then finished undoing the last of the buttons, parting the fabric and letting his fingers glide over the bare flesh of Geoffrey's chest.

Geoffrey groaned wantonly into the kiss, though the embrace was anything but passive. He returned it with equal ardour, tongue gliding along tongue as he reached for Jonathan, only to find himself caught up in his coat. A small growl of frustration escaped him as he struggled to free his arms, and by the time he'd managed to shed the heavy coat and let it drop to the floor, Jonathan had his shirt undone and was touching him. Everywhere the raven's fingers ran, it felt like liquid fire against his skin, the sensation fading to a slow, lingering burn. He wanted to touch Jonathan, too, and he reached for him.

Jonathan broke the kiss, and with a hint of a smirk, he ran his hands down Geoffrey's arms, catching the wrists and squeezing tightly. "Behave," he murmured as he insistently slammed Geoffrey's wrists against the wall up by his head, pinning him there. "Or you'll regret it."

"Oh, please make me regret it, demon," Geoffrey murmured lewdly.

Chuckling, Jonathan slid his palms up, pressing them against Geoffrey's as he twined their fingers together. "You are mine. And I will have you. In every way I choose." He gave him a quick, hard kiss, and then dipped his head to mouth along Geoffrey's collarbone. When he reached the juncture of neck and shoulder, he loosed a low, feral growl and bit into Geoffrey's flesh. The first mouthful of blood sent a jolt through him, and he shuddered visibly at the sensation, grasping tighter to Geoffrey's hands and taking another few mouthfuls before he tore away with a soft snarl. Licking his lips, he grasped Geoffrey's cheeks and kissed him deeply, feeling delightfully lightheaded in his desire for _all_ of the other. Each moment he waited only made him more ravenous for Geoffrey, but he resisted, enjoying the build and knowing the release would more than be worth the wait.

When Jonathan bit him, Geoffrey tipped his head back against the wall and growled darkly, fangs bared. The feel of Jonathan's teeth was painful, but it also made his entire body thrum with arousal. Heart racing, he squeezed Jonathan's hands tightly, wanting more contact, but unable to do much from his present position. As soon as Jonathan released his hands to kiss him, Geoffrey fervently returned it, and capitalized on his freedom by taking the opportunity to unfasten Jonathan's vest and continue with what the raven had teasingly started earlier with his tie and the top buttons of his shirt. He'd gotten about halfway through when Jonathan again grabbed his hands and pinned them once more.

"I'm not finished with you yet," Jonathan murmured as he sucked on the tendon in Geoffrey's neck, letting his keen teeth graze across it. He released his hold on Geoffrey's hands long enough to relieve him of his vest and shirt, and for a moment, he let his gaze rove over the bare torso, appreciating the solid, defined musculature, the myriad scars, and the tempting patch of dark curls on his chest that tapered down into a narrow trail of baby fine hair that enticingly disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. He licked his lips, the arctic blue taking on a very predatory glint. "Not by a longshot." Dipping his head, he encircled a nipple with the tip of his tongue, catching the nub between his teeth and adding a bit of pressure. He gave a brief suck before releasing, and then put a playful bite on the pectoral muscle, marking Geoffrey. As he laved the flat of his tongue over the slightly weeping wound, he dropped his hands to Geoffrey's trousers and made short work of the button and fly, a wanton purr in his throat when he felt the brunet's hardness against his palm. As he pushed Geoffrey's clothing down past his thighs, Jonathan slowly dropped to one knee in front of him, letting his hands come to rest on the other's hips, and he looked up at him. A sly smile curved his lips upward, and then dropping his gaze to Geoffrey's cock, he slowly ran the tip of his tongue around the head before he wrapped his lips around it and slowly took the brunet's entire length into his throat.

Geoffrey shivered in pure pleasure, both from the teasing suckle to his throat and the very libidinous way that Jonathan was staring at him. It looked to him like the raven wanted to devour him, and he was more than okay with that. In fact, he thought Jonathan's sultry, predatory demeanour was incredibly erotic, and he was already hard and aching with want for the other. He hissed in a breath when Jonathan teased over his nipple, it morphing to a low, guttural _Fuck!_ with the addition of the bite. And, when Jonathan dropped to his knees in front of him, and he felt the swipe of a tongue on his dick, he snaked out a hand to grab a handful of Jonathan's hair. "God, please…" He glanced down, and watched as his cock slowly disappeared into Jonathan's mouth, and he groaned lowly, trying to remember a time he'd seen anything so alluring. Unable to stop himself, he tightened his hold on Jonathan's hair and began to rock his hips, slowly at first and then gradually moving faster and deeper.

Jonathan glanced up at Geoffrey, giving him another very libidinous look when he realized the brunet was watching, and then closing his eyes, he grasped the base of Geoffrey's dick and began to stroke him counterpoint to the movements of his head, all the while letting Geoffrey fuck his mouth. He could feel Geoffrey building towards his orgasm, every low groan, growl or curse he pulled from the brunet only fuelling his own libido. Easing back and focusing his attention on just the head of Geoffrey's cock, he plied it with teasing swirls of tongue and gentle drags of fang in between deep sucks and long, languid licks. He could tell that Geoffrey was on the verge of coming, and as the brunet was about to hit his peak, he suddenly grabbed the base of his cock and pressed insistently to hold him back while at the same time, he released him and bit into his femoral artery.

What Jonathan was doing to him was torture, pure and simple, and Geoffrey was loving every second of it. Jonathan's mouth was as talented as it was wicked, and each pass with that gifted tongue was pure ecstasy. He could feel that he was getting close to that edge, and his body tensed with his impending release, though when Jonathan suddenly grabbed him, his eyes went wide in shock, horrified that the other had been such a literal cock tease! Before he could say anything, Jonathan bit him on the inside of his thigh. "Christ!" The unexpected bite left him feeling weightless and dizzy, every part of him hypersensitive to everything happening around him. His heartbeat hammered loudly in his ears, Jonathan's touch burned against his flesh, and the smell of blood in the air was intoxicating. The sensations nearly overwhelmed him, and as he felt himself go weak in the knees, his hands curled into tight fists against the wall and he cried out in pure pleasure. It was a different experience from when Jonathan had bit his throat, infinitely more personal, and much more intense. As the pain from the bite radiated outwards, it quickly transformed into this incredible feeling of euphoria, and his whole body ached with want for even more of the raven. "For God's sake, _please_ Jonathan!" he found himself shamelessly pleading. As he'd promised, Jonathan had made him beg, and in that moment, Geoffrey simply desired him too much to be mortified, or to even care that he had.

Jonathan's one hand curved around Geoffrey's thigh to rest just under the curve of his ass cheek, and he purred darkly as he fed off the brunet, greedily taking several hungry swallows of blood before he pulled away. His lips were parted slightly, eyes closed, as he rested his cheek against Geoffrey's leg, letting the blood warm him and the pleasure course through him, ratcheting his lust up another notch. He slowly licked his lips when he heard Geoffrey's words, and gently, he licked the trail of blood from his inner thigh before he slowly got to his feet, languidly dragging his tongue upwards from navel to throat as he stood. "Please, what?" he asked with a smirk. "What is it you want from me, Geoffrey?"

"Take me, have me, fuck me, love me…do whatever you want to me, but do _something_ ," Geoffrey begged as he met the pale blue. "You're fucking killing me, you bloody tease," he grumbled as he reached for Jonathan a third time, half expecting to be stopped again. _I just want you…any way I can have you…_ When he wasn't restrained, he returned to his earlier task of unbuttoning Jonathan's shirt, and when he'd completed that and tugged his shirttails free, he ran his hands over the smoother, less blemished skin.

Jonathan slipped out of his shirt and vest, and tossed them onto a chair, unable to keep from grinning slightly at Geoffrey's touches, his body having remained somewhat ticklish despite his transformation. Catching one of the roving hands, he pressed a kiss to the palm before moving it to his waistband, silently encouraging Geoffrey to proceed. "I want you, too," Jonathan purred as he mouthed along Geoffrey's jawline towards his ear, and he loosed a low, sultry growl before he caught the lobe between his teeth and nipped. "I have since I first met you. The things I imagined doing to you…"

Geoffrey began unfastening Jonathan's trousers, though his eyes shuttered when he felt that growl against his skin, and he turned his head, catching Jonathan's lower lip between his teeth and biting just enough to steal a taste of blood from him. "Then show me," he replied as he parted the fabric and slipped a hand inside, licking his lips slowly as he squeezed Jonathan's dick.

"With absolute pleasure," Jonathan said huskily as he stepped back long enough to remove his remaining clothing, casting an appreciative eye over Geoffrey as the brunet did the same. Wrapping his arms around his waist, a slow smile curving his lips upward when their cocks rubbed together, he moved towards his bed and released him, waiting while Geoffrey settled himself on his back against the pillow, his arms folded up behind his head. "Cocky bastard," he murmured, his eyes slowly raking over the bare form, appreciating every detail now that he'd been given his first complete, unfettered look. Licking his lips, he put a knee to the mattress, and then hands. Locking gazes with the brunet, he slowly prowled towards him, nudging Geoffrey's legs apart with a knee as he moved between them. Hands flat on the bed by Geoffrey's ribs, Jonathan leaned over him, his face just inches above the other's, and he smiled. "You're mine. And I'll make damned sure you never forget that." He grazed his teeth against the stubbled jut of Geoffrey's chin as he reached a hand back to skim down the length of a firm thigh. When he reached the knee, he hooked his hand underneath and drew the limb up, staring intently at Geoffrey as he raised the leg, letting it rest along his bicep, hand returning to the bed. 

Geoffrey couldn't help but shiver again when Jonathan gave him that hungry stare, and he smiled lewdly. "Except for one thing. You were mine first," he teased, having already made such a claim on the raven when he'd taken him at the Ascalon Club.

"Hn. Semantics," Jonathan purred, and with his other hand, he let his fingers glide over the flesh of his torso, and then, with a wicked smile, he dragged his claws down the length of his flank hard enough to leave four raised, weeping welts in the skin.

Geoffrey snarled as Jonathan's claws marred his skin, and he arched his back upwards, a very pleasured growl spilling from his lips a moment later. "Then do it," he taunted, his voice gravelly for his arousal. "Show me."

Jonathan chuckled darkly. "As you like it then, devil," he murmured as he straightened enough to line the tip of his cock up with Geoffrey's hole, and narrowing his eyes, he pushed forward, keeping his movements deliberately slow to draw it out and sensually tease the brunet. His upper lip drew back slightly as he entered Geoffrey completely, his eyes widening and pupils dilating fully as he felt the other's body around him. Once he was inside, and could feel Geoffrey's pulse against his own, whatever vestiges of control Jonathan was maintaining snapped as his desire to simply _possess_ took over. He let out a soft, feral growl, claws from both hands going insistently into Geoffrey's sides to hold on as he slowly eased back out, only to drive back in, his rhythm languid, but hard and deep, penetrating the other completely.

Geoffrey held his breath in anticipation when he felt Jonathan's dick against his ass, and he let out a hissed, contented murmur as he was filled, the raven's cock thick and full, the pain of it riding on an addictive undercurrent of raw pleasure. He saw the change come over Jonathan, the way his eyes changed and grew hungrier, and he groaned wantonly, the sound morphing to a guttural shout as eight sharp talons tore into him. "Fuck, yes!" he muttered, and as Jonathan began to thrust, he let his eyes fall closed for an extended blink, his hands grasping on to Jonathan's shoulders. After a few moments, he glanced up at the other, his own eyes lust darkened, his breath coming in ragged pants. "Harder!" he demanded as he pushed back against the raven, wanting more. "You're not going to break me, for God's sake!" As if to emphasize his point, he rasped his own claws over Jonathan's shoulders and down his chest to pinch at his nipples, and then he grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down to kiss him, the embrace greedy and unapologetic.

Jonathan's expression turned wolfish when he heard the demand, though with the addition of claws, he snarled darkly and raised Geoffrey's other leg, shifting more onto his knees as he drove into him, avidly returning the kiss as teeth and tongues clashed. He could taste his blood, and Geoffrey's, and it pushed his arousal into the red. He broke away with a sharp hiss, licking the blood from Geoffrey's lips before attacking his throat, delighting in every sound the brunet made, every strangled curse and demand for more driving his want. The blood only added to the pure pleasure that coursed through him, and before long, he found himself once more walking that razor's edge as he tried to hold off, to prolong the moment.

"Fuck!" Geoffrey's head went back against the pillow when Jonathan again bit his throat, and he dragged his claws sharply down Jonathan's arms, knowing that between this, and the delicious torment Jonathan had treated him to before, he would not be able to resist much longer. Jonathan thrust hard into him, and Geoffrey could feel the scant control he had left waning rapidly. He growled lowly and pushed Jonathan up for a second. Long legs wrapped around his waist as he locked his ankles to draw him in even deeper, arms going around him, claws rasping down his entire back. "More," he panted, and as he arched his hips upward, he surged forward, pulling the raven tight against him. His fangs drove hard into Jonathan's throat as he drank, his orgasm tearing through him as his body shuddered its release between them, Geoffrey feeling nothing but perfect bliss carried on a tide of vermillion that warmed him to his core.

Jonathan put a shallow bite along Geoffrey's collarbone as he felt himself drawn deeper, though when Geoffrey's hands raked down his back, he raised his head and snarled in pleasure, the sound turning more bestial when the other's body tightened around him, and he felt each pulse of the brunet's cock. However, when Geoffrey so possessively bit him, everything went white, and with a growl of Geoffrey's name, he came hard, biting him in turn as he succumbed and let the wave of euphoria crash over him. _You're mine…_

The two continued to feed off each other for several moments, managing to maintain that ecstatic haze a bit longer as their breathing and heartrates returned to a more steady state. Jonathan was able to regain control first, and after nudging Geoffrey off of his throat, and then easing himself free of his body, he indulged in a lazy, languid kiss, enjoying the combined taste of their blood. Their coupling had been harsh, but there had also been an underlying tenderness to it, a savage, loving brutality that only vampires could understand. As he eased away from the kiss, he nipped a series of gentler bites along Geoffrey's collarbone, eventually biting him over his heart. "You're mine," he repeated, this time aloud, as he watched the wound heal, and then he licked the blood from Geoffrey's chest, moving a bit lower to tend to what had been smeared between them from Geoffrey's orgasm.

"Yeah, I'm all right with that," Geoffrey said as he lay on his back and let Jonathan do to him as he wished. The sheets were bloody, and they were bloody, but he was beyond content. He hesitated for a moment, and then let his hand fall into the very tousled raven tresses, and he petted through them for a few seconds before he suddenly chuckled. 

Jonathan raised an eyebrow as he returned to the other pillow, propping his head up on a bent elbow. "I amuse you?"

"No. Well, yeah, you do. But that's not why I'm laughing. I was just thinking about something your Maker said to me."

"Hm. I don't know if I should be bothered that you're thinking of my Maker right now," Jonathan teased.

Geoffrey sniggered. "Nah. It's not like that. But just now, it struck me. He told me we have an ally in each other. Wonder if he meant it like this." He flashed an impish grin, and then hummed blissfully, unable to recall a time he'd felt so unguarded and at peace. "We're bloody good together," he said after a moment. "Yeah for sure like this, but I bet in all ways, too. I think together, we'll be unstoppable. I like that."

"I like that, too." Jonathan smiled as he watched the comfortable, relaxed expression on the other, and then asked, "May I ask what else Myrddin told you?"

Geoffrey shrugged. "As soon as he saw me, he knew I was yours; told me I was something rare. He was impressed that I managed to get out of his…restraint - but that didn't stop him from putting me in a stronger one. Bastard." Geoffrey narrowed his eyes and huffed. "He spoke about you a bit, how you found a point of light in the darkness. He is tough to understand, though he did say I'd maybe find things clearer now."

Jonathan's smile widened. "Of course you're rare. You're _the Great Hunter_ , are you not?" He smirked, then his expression fell to a simple upturn of lips. "He said similar things to me when he appeared outside Lady Ashbury's castle, about you being both sword and shield. I would agree with him." He was quiet for a few moments, and then he shifted to put a hand on Geoffrey's cheek. "When I was reborn, all around me all I saw was death and suffering. But I saved one from this epidemic. And from his own darkness. My point of light."

"Yeah? Who'd that-" Geoffrey cut himself off, eyes going wide as he felt his cheeks heat. Suddenly, things clicked into place, and he remembered why he'd felt that eerie sense of déjà vu when he'd been talking to Myrddin: he'd had a similar conversation just after his rebirth with Usher Talltree about himself. About how he wouldn't feel so lost in the darkness if he could find a single point of light. He'd meant Jonathan. _Sneaky bastard…_ A bit of an embarrassed smirk crept across his face, and he batted Jonathan's hand away. "Yeah, all right. Get off, then."

Jonathan grinned, quite enjoying seeing the flustered side of Geoffrey McCullum. "Elisabeth is curious to meet you," he said, continuing to tease.

"Fuck off!" Geoffrey replied, obviously shocked by that. "What'd you tell her?"

"She was the one who mentioned it, actually. Vampire or not, she still possesses those strong feminine wiles that men are powerless to resist. And when she said I seemed changed, more at peace with myself, and asked after me, well..." Jonathan said, and he chuckled sheepishly. "She was…admittedly wary about the wisdom of turning a vampire hunter, and surprised that I'd found myself drawn to you, but said she would wait to pass judgement until she'd met you herself. I think she was more concerned with my well-being than her own at that point, but if her worry kept her from harming herself, I gladly endured her doting. Though, I assured her that you're not the cocky arsehole you present, and can even be somewhat charming when you want to be."

Geoffrey blinked. "Oi! I did defend your honour, Doctor Reid! The two bastards you were forced to sire have been dealt with, and Lord Finney is presently enjoying the very best of Priwen's hospitality," he reminded with a smirk, unable to maintain his façade of looking overly affronted. "So, I'd say I'm damned charming, and quite chivalrous, too."

"Yes, you are," Jonathan agreed with a smirk. "But then, it's in your blood. I learned my 'brothers' include both King Arthur and William Marshall." He saw Geoffrey arch a brow. "Lord Pembroke was Lady Ashbury's Maker. I had an opportunity to speak with him before she ended his life. After all this time, he was ready. Tired." He caressed Geoffrey's cheek. "I know the Guard of Priwen was looking for him for many years. I give you my word that I saw him destroyed."

Geoffrey nodded, not really sure how he felt about that news. He thought that he would be glad, but in light of everything he'd learned over the last few weeks, he found he was more disappointed than anything. "I'll make sure his name is removed from the list." He smirked humourlessly. "By God, Priwen's changed so much in just a few days. First a leech running it, then an end to the Great Hunt, and now an end to William Marshall and sanctuary for the sewer skals."

Jonathan smiled, and gave Geoffrey a warm kiss. "I'm glad you're giving Old Bridget a chance. As for the changes, we can handle them together. After all, I don't think either of us expected our lives to take this particular direction, hm?"

"Nah." A crooked smirk appeared. "But, I'm good with it, I think." After several minutes had passed, Geoffrey got out of bed, indulged in a languid stretch, and padded towards the balcony.

"Where are you going?" Jonathan asked.

"I can feel the sun rising," Geoffrey said, even though it was still quite dark outside. "Thought I'd close the shutters now before I got too comfortable."

"Like that?"

"Like what?"

"You, good sir, are entirely in the altogether," Jonathan teased.

Geoffrey glanced down at himself, and then a slow smirk curved the corners of his lips upwards. "So? Are you objecting to it?"

"I-no, absolutely not! But what if someone sees you?"

Geoffrey's smirk widened. "Who? It's the middle of the bloody night! Even Priwen will have pulled everyone in by now. Are you expecting another vampire?"

Jonathan's brows shot up. "What? No, of course not!"

Geoffrey laughed. "Then it's not a big deal. If anyone is down there on the street, the balcony will hide any view of my naughty bits, and if they're across the river and can see me clearly from that distance, then Lord love them, they're welcome to the show. Besides, it's not like I intend to linger. There are much better places I'd rather be." He bolted the shutters, and then turned off the lamps as he returned to the bed. "Like here."

Jonathan smiled, and he let his fingers skim over the various surfaces of Geoffrey's skin, exploring through touch. "You'll have to tell me one day how you earned each one of these," he said as he traced along the various raised silvery scars that adorned Geoffrey's body. "Though the repair work is very good."

Geoffrey purred at the soft caresses. "That would be Grant and Quinn. Mostly Quinn."

"I would very much like to observe their techniques."

Geoffrey smirked. "I'm sure you'll get a chance. There's always someone who needs stitched up. And if you're acting all impressed about their talents, they'll be more than happy to show off versus tell you off."

"You sound like you have everything planned out," Jonathan teased as he settled against his pillow, pale eyes watching Geoffrey.

"Aye. Sleep now. Then, we hunt. It'll be part of your training, not that you need much. You beat the Red Queen for God's sake, you could probably teach us." He chuckled softly, mostly teasing about that. "Then, we'll get a lorry, pack your things into it, and leave this poxy shitehole."

"Hm. It's a good plan, except for one thing." Jonathan's grin widened.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"I still need to speak to Edgar."

Geoffrey made a face. "Bollocks to him." He huffed impatiently. "Fine. I'll get the lorry, you deal with Swansea, and then we carry on as previously outlined and leave this poxy shitehole for good."

Jonathan nodded. "It's a good plan."

Despite how heavy his eyelids felt, Geoffrey still managed to look smug. "Yeah, I know it is."

It seemed like Geoffrey had just closed his eyes when he was suddenly wide awake and very aware that he was alone in the bed. He got up when he heard soft shuffling, and after pulling the sheet around him, he padded barefoot out to the main office where he saw Jonathan, up and dressed, and packing things into different boxes. "How long have you been up?" he asked, his voice still slightly groggy. He was a fairly early riser, and he found himself wondering if Jonathan had even slept at all.

Jonathan smiled, his eyes flicking up to Geoffrey's hair, which was presently standing up in every direction, and he managed to resist the urge to go over and smooth it down. "Not long, I assure you. Twenty minutes, maybe? Just enough time to finish with my equipment and notes. I only have a few books and my personal belongings left." He looked at the dozen or so boxes. "I don't know that this warrants a lorry," he teased.

Geoffrey shrugged. "It's what we've got," he said with a smirk as he found his discarded clothing from before and shook it right-side out. "Better too big than too small," he added, his expression turning decidedly lewd for a moment. "I won't be long," he said as he stooped and hunted around for his boots.

"Take your time," Jonathan assured, even as he'd flushed and chuckled. "The water in the pitcher is clean, but cold, if you're interested. By the time you're ready, I should be finished with what I'm doing."

"Ta," Geoffrey replied, and he headed in that direction. He wet a flannel, and peered at himself in the mirror, his eyes going wide. "Jesus Christ," he exclaimed when he saw himself, and offered a half-hearted growl in return when he heard Jonathan's snicker. Using a bit of water, he finger-combed his hair back into some semblance of order, the one cowlick, as always, refusing to be tamed and falling forward on his forehead. Satisfied, he made short work of washing himself off, ridding himself of the streaks of blood Jonathan's tongue had missed, and then he pulled on his trousers and shirt, tucking the tails in once he'd finished buttoning it. Sitting at the workbench stool, put on his socks and boots, and once they were tied, he wrapped his scarf around his neck and slid on his vest, buckling on his sword belt before he slipped on his trench coat. "So, do I pass muster?" he asked as he held his arms out and did a small turn.

Jonathan put the lid on the last packing carton, and chuckled. "I thought you looked fine before. Debauched suits you, Mister McCullum, and I welcome the opportunity to ravage you again."

Geoffrey smirked as he picked up his crossbow. "Done," he agreed as he opened the balcony shutters, and he peered out into the night as he waited for Jonathan to put on his overcoat. He squinted his eyes, his head cocked to the side, and then he frowned. "That's a Priwen vehicle out front!"

"Here?" Jonathan asked as he joined the other on the balcony. "Why?"

"A damned good question, that!" Geoffrey said, and as his frown deepened, he stepped off the balcony, jumping to the truck's driver's side door. He grasped the top of the door, and pulled himself up to stand on the running board.

Millar was behind the wheel, Hughes in the passenger seat, and on an opened piece of waxed paper between them sat two sandwich halves. "You're a digestive biscuit," Millar said with a smirk, chuckling and picking up his half when Hughes cursed. "Right. Ask me now," he said as he took a bite.

"Millar, what the hell are you doing here?" Geoffrey demanded.

The two sergeants jumped, Millar swiveling around in his seat to stare wide-eyed out the window. "Christ, you scared the wits out of me!" he said, and once he'd calmed down some, he gestured towards Hughes. "Taking tea and playing Game of Twenty," he answered.

Geoffrey closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. "I can see that," he said impatiently, his tone somewhat clipped. "Why are you doing it here?"

Millar smiled as he took another bite. "Well, when you weren't back by the time the patrols came in last night, we figured you'd come here to talk Doctor Reid into coming back with us and got yourself trapped by the day."

Geoffrey pursed his lips slightly. "Something like that."

"So, we cleared it with Jackson, and he told us to take the lorry, since we didn't know how much stuff he'd have." Millar smirked slyly. "Plus, with the bigger vehicle, we figured if he wouldn't come willingly, if you wanted us to nab him and hold him until he saw reason, we'd have the space to make that happen," he drawled.

"Tch. Droll." Geoffrey rolled his eyes as Millar chuckled. "Imbecile."

"We were keeping watch, too," Hughes added quickly.

Geoffrey snorted. "Yeah, looks it. Any other leech and you'd have been done for."

"We were," Hughes insisted. "We just got…distracted for a few, and didn't expect you to show up at the sodding window." He cleared his throat, and shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Geoffrey's stare. "Anyway, patrols last night saw Swansea bugger off around two, heading for the West End, and he never came back. Last reports were that he'd disappeared around Temple Church."

Geoffrey scowled. "Got a fair idea of where he is."

"The Brotherhood?" Hughes asked, and he saw Geoffrey nod. "We figured the same. No one's gone looking for him yet, though. That place is a bloody maze of catacombs, and what with this sort-of truce we've got with Talltree, we thought it best to see what you wanted done."

"Good decision." Geoffrey considered that for a few moments, eyes narrowed in thought. "We'll speak to him, Reid and me. I don't expect he'll hand Swansea to me, but if he meant what he said about wanting us to be allies, he should at least answer my questions." He arched a brow as he looked at the two sergeants. "In the meantime, the two of you can get off your arses and help collect Reid's boxes. He's only got a dozen or so - and be careful with them. He's got experiments and such, and doesn't need them all bolloxed up. Let's go."

"Yes, Sir!" the two sergeants replied, Hughes grabbing his sandwich as he climbed out the passenger side, and Millar exiting the driver's side with the rest of his once Geoffrey had stepped back down to the street. Together, the three of them entered the hospital, and when Gwyneth Branagan intercepted them on their way to the staircase, Geoffrey gave her a harsh stare. "We're here for Doctor Reid," he said, and he held up his hands to show he meant no harm. "Not to cause trouble. He knows we're here."

"Yet you come armed into a hospital!" she replied shrilly as she looked them over, her posture remaining defiant as she glared at him over the rims of her round spectacles, obviously unfazed. "You should be ashamed, carrying on the way you do!"

"It's all right, Nurse," Jonathan said soothingly as he came down the central staircase. "I am expecting them."

She turned to glance over her shoulder, and gave a respectful nod. "Very good, Doctor Reid. I shall leave them in your care." She continued to watch the three guards as she walked away, finally disappearing into a ward to tend to her other duties.

"Oh, she's lovely," Geoffrey remarked snidely as they headed upstairs, joining Jonathan mid-way and carrying on towards his office.

Jonathan smiled. "Her tongue may be a little bit sharp, but she is an exceptional nurse."

"We'll take your word for it, Doctor Reid," Millar replied, and he rolled his eyes discreetly. "A bird like that? I'll take my chances being ill," Millar muttered to Hughes as they followed the two men.

"Yeah, she makes even Quinn look twee," Hughes agreed quietly with a smirk.

When Jonathan opened the door to his office, Hughes and Millar went in and looked around. "Not what I'd expected," Hughes said.

"Yeah, the filth and dank is more those skals," Millar said. "That posh vampire club was done up pretty swank, too. They had-"

"Enough," Geoffrey interrupted, and he pointed to the boxes. "Get on with it."

"Yes, Sir," Millar replied, and he and Hughes picked up the first load. "Being extra special careful with them, Sir," he said with a smirk, and as the two sergeants headed down to the street, Millar continued with his story about the Ascalon Club.

Geoffrey turned to Jonathan, and he smirked. "What'd I tell you? They anticipated us needing to haul your things." A chuckle followed. "Still think they don't want you there?"

Jonathan chuckled. "It's definitely strange, but I'm…oddly flattered?" Sobering, he said, "I went to give Edgar my letter of resignation while you were outside, but his office was empty. I left it on his desk, but it looks like several of his personal effects are gone."

"Yeah. You said you'd heard Swansea had called for a car last night, and the lads were just telling me he'd legged it last night. But we have a good idea where he is. They saw him run to Talltree, likely for sanctuary."

Jonathan frowned. "Does he know that Edgar plans to challenge him as primate?"

Geoffrey arched a brow. "Really?"

Jonathan nodded. "Myrddin said he foresaw trouble ahead with them."

A slow smirk rose on Geoffrey's lips. "If he's not full of shit, I'm sure his cards have warned him. Though truth told, I'd throw my support behind Talltree if it meant the destruction of Swansea." Millar and Hughes returned then to take a second load of boxes, the two now discussing who in greater London society Ascalon might consider tapping for membership in the future. He saw that there were just two boxes left, and once the two sergeants had left, Geoffrey smirked. "Two seconds," he said, and taking the remaining cartons, he went off the balcony and put them on the back of the truck.

_That's bloody cheating!_

Millar's shout wafted up to the room, along with Geoffrey's laugh and an invitation to go that way if he wanted to, and Jonathan couldn't help but grin at the sound of it. He balled up his soiled linens and put them in the laundry bag, and then he glanced around. It hadn't been an unpleasant room, but he wasn't sorry to be leaving it. He grabbed the last of his things - his medical bag, and his rubber plant - and then stepped out into the corridor, locking the office behind him. He met the three guards on the stairs, and he handed Millar the plant. "If you would take Lisa for me? I just need to give my key to Doctor Ackroyd. As acting Administrator, I should let him know I'm leaving, especially if Edgar has gone into hiding."

Millar's eyes widened as he took the pot. "A leech with a bloody houseplant named Lisa!" he exclaimed.

"Well, he wears nice cologne and dresses proper. Not that odd grand scheme, really," Hughes said with a shrug, and he held out a hand for Jonathan's bag.

"Not for these two," Millar muttered, and he glanced at both Geoffrey and Jonathan. "No offense."

"Just shut it," Geoffrey replied as he gave Millar a nudge with his elbow to get him moving. "We'll be outside," he told the raven. Once the plant was safely stowed in the cab, Geoffrey gave them instructions to put Jonathan's things in his office for the time being, and told Millar to have Jackson figure out a place for Jonathan to stay. "And tell him and Bates both that before everyone swans off for the night, I want all the guard to meet Reid. Fuck knows I don't need any of the rookies getting anxious and shooting him on sight if he's going to be around."

Millar smiled. "Got it, Sir. And Sir? I'm…well - hey, here he comes!" Millar's smile went slightly crooked as he got into the truck, Hughes running around to get in the other side. _I'm glad to see you happy…_

Geoffrey snorted softly in amusement. "Thanks, Millar," he called as he and Jonathan got in the back and rode partway back to Priwen. When they crossed a street that would take them to the West End, Geoffrey hopped over the back gate and dropped soundlessly to the street, Jonathan joining him a couple of seconds later. Together, they made the short walk to Temple Church, and as they headed underground, Geoffrey asked, "You've met him before? Talltree?"

Jonathan nodded. "I have. He's a curious man, but I believe him to be honest."

Geoffrey smirked. "As honest as a fortune-teller can be, I suppose." They went down the last steps and into the vault, and approached the man seated at the writing table. "Do you ever move from that spot?" Geoffrey asked as he watched him deal out his tableau.

Usher Talltree chuckled. "You know very well that I do, Geoffrey," he said. "You've seen me retrieve documentation for you."

Geoffrey snorted. "I didn't mean it so literally."

Usher's smile widened. "Hello, Jonathan."

"Hello, Usher," Jonathan replied. "I assume you already know why we're here?"

"It never pays to assume, dear boy," Usher said as he flipped over a card. "I simply listen to what the cards tell me, and have found that it is usually in my best interests to listen to them."

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. "We're here for Swansea. I know you're hiding him here, protecting him, but he needs to answer for the things he's done."

"Ah, straight to the point. I do hope you never lose that determination as the years pass, Geoffrey. But you already know I cannot give him to you. It would be the start of a very bitter battle between the Brotherhood and Priwen, and now that we've forged a fledgling truce, I intend to protect that." Usher flipped over a card, and he smiled. "Edgar did come to me," he said. "But I will tell you what I told him. He is welcome to stay here as long as he likes, but he may not find it as comfortable or as secure as he thinks." He glanced up at Jonathan. "I know what he's done. And what he plans to do. But, presently, he is still a Brother, and I must treat him like every other."

"You would let him hide here for an eternity like a coward?" Geoffrey demanded hotly. "I will see him brought down for his treachery!"

Usher chuckled. "I would like to give you the justice you seek, hunter, but I cannot," he said. "Fate will play her hand, and balance will be restored in time. But the cards tell me you won't kill him."

"The hell you say!" Geoffrey snarled, eyes narrowed.

"You won't. You are an honourable hunter, and will respect my wishes to keep peace between our two factions, even though it angers you." Usher smiled again, his expression pleasant even if there was something cryptic behind it.

Geoffrey gave Usher a curious look, studying him. Suddenly, his brows went up in surprise, and he gave a slow nod of understanding. "Fine," Geoffrey said dismissively, and he snorted humourlessly. "This is a personal matter between Reid and Swansea anyway. He's the one who wants a conversation with him."

"Exactly," Usher replied, his smile going criminal. "You're welcome to speak with Edgar if you can find him in the catacombs, Jonathan. And in the meantime, I would very much welcome a conversation with you, Geoffrey. You've learned much in the past few days, I can see it."

Jonathan gave the two men a very confused look, but when nothing more was forthcoming, he pressed his lips together and nodded. "Thank you." Leaving the two men, Jonathan set out to find Edgar. He had no idea where to even look in the maze of tunnels, but he found that if he concentrated on his Progeny, he could get a sense of which direction to go to find him. Knowing he'd have to find his way out eventually, he pulled out his pocket knife and nicked his finger, marking each turn with a bit of blood to forge a trail. His heart beat a little faster as he drew closer to Edgar. He'd been wanting to speak to him since he'd learned the truth of his capture by Lord Redgrave, and now that he was going to have the opportunity, he had no idea what he was going to say. He was angry, and he didn't even know if he could forgive him. But he needed to hear Edgar's side.

It took some measure of searching, but finally, Jonathan came upon a row of small chambers, cells that the priests had likely used centuries ago for quiet prayer, or reading. In one, he found Edgar, the man sitting at a small table with a heavy tome, and furiously scribbling notes by candlelight. "Hello, Edgar."

Edgar started as he looked up, and he gave the raven a curious look. "Jonathan?" He adjusted his glasses, his dark eyes widening in recognition. "My friend," he murmured as he got to his feet and came around the desk, a sad smile on his face. "I was worried you'd turned your back on me, too, after I was so savagely attacked at Pembroke." His eyes narrowed, his expression looking incredibly off-putting for the cold, slitted irises. "Imagine my surprise to find that Geoffrey McCullum is still alive. I was disappointed to learn that you'd deceived me, Jonathan. I'd thought we were closer than that."

Jonathan's lips curved down in a frown. "Perhaps we were at one time, Edgar. And I'm sorry you feel betrayed by my partial truths, but that doesn't even make us close to even for what you did. I respected you, supported you, _defended_ you, and in the end, you showed your true colours." He shook his head slowly. "And now, you can't even hide behind your words, because I can see that you've become a monster - remorseless, soulless, and apathetic."

"You don't understand, Jonathan!"

He snorted softly. "What exactly don't I understand, Edgar? The call of the blood? How hard it is to be around it every day? How painful it is to resist? I think it's safe to say I'm fairly qualified to comment," he hissed lowly. "I just want to know one thing, Edgar. Why?"

Edgar offered a gentle smile as he approached Jonathan and laid a hand on his arm, though a sadness settled in his eyes when the raven abruptly pulled away. "I meant no harm, Jonathan, you must believe me! Lord Redgrave said he wished to speak with you, and he was such a delightful chap I thought nothing of the request."

"So, you agreed to help trick me so you could get a blood sample!" Jonathan scowled in disgust. "For God's sake, they murdered an innocent woman for sport as part of it."

"As I said, I thought nothing of the location, assuming His Lordship merely wanted a bit of privacy." Edgar reached for Jonathan's hand, as if to reassure, and this time, he looked affronted when he was pushed away. "Surely you understand my predicament, Jonathan. I adore about you, dear boy, I truly do. But this was the blood of _William Marshall_ , the greatest vampire knight and likely the strongest sample I could ever dream of possessing. You tell me you wouldn't have done different in my position."

"I would not have compromised my friendship," Jonathan said evenly. "Even now, after how deeply you've betrayed me, I've still protected you. Geoffrey wanted to kill you, but I asked him not to. And he's kept that promise to me."

"I thank you for that, Jonathan. I always knew we had something special between us, you and me."

"I didn't ask him for you, Edgar," Jonathan said coldly. "I asked him for Pembroke. The staff needed their captain, even if you did administrate largely in absentia these past few weeks. Now that the skal virus has been stopped, the flu epidemic should peak soon, and the number of new cases should begin to drop by year end. As such, I've tendered my resignation. Effective immediately, I will no longer practice at Pembroke. The letter is on your desk."

"What? But…why? I just thought - when we first met…" _I cared about you so much! Loved you, even!_

Jonathan growled lowly when he heard Edgar's thoughts, and his upper lip drew back in a sneer. "You never loved _me_! You loved what I was! What I could do for you - like grant you immortality!" His eyes narrowed sharply. "I've received another offer, and I think my services would be put to better use there."

"You have?" Edgar frowned in confusion, and then his brows shot up. "McCullum? You would choose _him_?" He shrank back some as Jonathan's expression turned even more glacial. "Oh. I-I suppose I should have realized when you were so insistent on treating him. I should have put a stop to that foolishness back then." He sighed heavily. "He's a _hunter_ , Jonathan! A low-bred, savage who thrives on brutish, thuggish behaviour! What could you _possibly_ have in common with an illiterate simpleton?"

Jonathan snarled, the sound dark and warning. "He may not have attended a university, but do not dismiss him as stupid or uneducated," Jonathan snapped. "He is incredibly clever and has a sharp mind. Not to mention, he is fiercely loyal, protective, and respected very highly by the Guard. You don't have to like him, but I will not listen to you speak so disparagingly about him."

"You can't possibly-" Edgar cut himself off, and closed his eyes in resignation as he shook his head. _You have feelings for him?_ "Oh, Jonathan, you poor creature," Edgar said softly. "I am envious of him, for stealing your…attention. But how can you trust him? When the next Great Hunt comes - and it will - you will fall to his whims. He's a murderer and a sadist, and I fear for you."

"You had my attention at one time, Edgar," Jonathan said quietly. "And you threw it away to satisfy your own lofty ambitions. I trust him. Not because of what he says, but because of what he does. He has proven his loyalty to me, and he has mine unerringly in return."

"So you would join the Guard of Priwen?" Edgar asked, and he tsked softly. "How disappointing. You're so much better than they are. You're wasting your talents with those thieves and ruffians!"

"And your elitist snobbery is misplaced. There will always be those who behave inappropriately - I'm sure even the Brotherhood has members who act contrary to its ideals. But their core is made up of good men with noble intentions who are sometimes compelled to do unsavoury things to protect England. I've spent time with them, and I've seen how they operate. They are not what popular opinion believes, and I will not condemn them because they're willing to get their hands dirty when no one else will. I misjudged them at first, too, but now I would gladly stand beside any of them and fight."

"They are not knights. They are scoundrels without honour."

"You know so little," Jonathan said with a soft snort. "You do know he's waiting outside? He's angry because he wants to end you, but he doesn't, because he was asked not to."

Edgar smiled a little. "It's not honour. It's self-preservation. Usher Talltree won't let him. As primate, he's duty-bound to protect a fellow member at all costs, and he would destroy McCullum if he tried. Not that he'd dare. Not in here. The resulting conflict between the Brotherhood and Priwen would be catastrophic for both sides. So long as I remain sheltered here, there is nothing that the Guard can do - that was how William Marshall remained under the Brotherhood's protection for so long."

Jonathan knew that wasn't _entirely_ accurate, but he didn't bother correcting Edgar. Instead, his thoughts were racing, his expression contemplative as he thought about the odd conversation that had transpired between Geoffrey and Usher at the entrance to the catacombs. _Fate will play her hand, and balance will be restored…but you won't kill him…_ Jonathan's brows went up, and he suddenly understood why Geoffrey had so unexpectedly acquiesced. _Geoffrey_ was a member of the Guard of Priwen. _Jonathan_ wasn't. Not yet. That was why he'd been allowed to wander the catacombs. A humourless smirk briefly quirked up the corners of his mouth. On a technicality, Usher had offered them the means to deal with Edgar without drawing both sides into a bloody feud. And though he wasn't happy at being denied his retribution, Geoffrey had understood Usher's offer for what it was, and was trusting Jonathan to do what he felt was best. Edgar's fate was, completely, in his hands. His gaze shifted to Edgar, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he studied him. In many ways, Jonathan pitied Edgar. It had to be a lonely existence when ambition took precedence over everything else. All of his friendships had been built on a foundation of lies, and he'd even managed to lie so convincingly to himself that in his mind, he was just another victim, not a perpetrator.

Jonathan had wanted to believe that Edgar had been his friend in those first few days, giving him comfort and protection and security when he'd been so lost and confused, But with the clarity of hindsight, he knew that he'd been simply a means to an end. A resource to be tapped. A specimen to be studied. Edgar's transformation had only highlighted the man's utter lack of morality, and no longer bound by human limitations of guilt or shame or compassion, many had suffered and died because of his machinations. It was painfully clear that Edgar would never atone, and it was just not in the raven to forgive. "You're broken, Edgar." With a resigned sigh, Jonathan pulled the pistol from the pocket of his overcoat and cocked it, then aimed it at the other man. "It's my fault. I should never have turned you. I should have let you die in the theatre."

"Jonathan, this is neutral territory! Priwen is forbidden from killing someone under the Brotherhood's protection!"

Jonathan shook his head, his lips briefly turning upwards before they fell. "I'm not a member of Priwen."

Edgar's mouth worked silently for a moment as he started to panic. "But you're a healer! I thought you wanted to help people! Make a difference! How can you willingly participate in something so… _barbaric_?"

Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "Do not speak to me about altruism. You lost the right to offer me counsel when you turned your back on your humanity and began treating life as something expendable."

"Please don't do this, Jonathan! We are friends!" Edgar pled.

"We _were_ friends, Edgar. And I'm still a healer. In a way. You're like a cancer; toxic to your environment and must be cut out." A sad smile passed across his face. "There is no other treatment. I've tried."

"God, Jonathan," Edgar whispered as bloody tears welled up in his eyes to run down his cheeks. "I'm not an evil soul. You must know that."

"No. Just hopelessly, irreparably lost. And out of control."

"Will it hurt much?"

Jonathan nodded, his own eyes reddening in compassion as he watched the other. "Yes. But I promise it will be quick. Goodbye, Edgar."

The shots echoed through the entire catacombs as Jonathan shot him twice in the heart. Without looking back, he silently made his way up to the entrance. To Geoffrey. When he saw him and Usher, he gave a small nod to signify it was done.

Usher closed the notebook he'd been writing in, and stood. "We will finish our conversation another time, Geoffrey. It's been…enlightening, and I thank you." With a small bow to them both, he discreetly made himself scarce, busying himself by his bookshelves.

"Doesn't matter that he deserved it. The first one is the hardest," Geoffrey said as he put a hand at the small of Jonathan's back and gave him a nudge towards the stairs. 

"I'm all right with it," Jonathan said. "I'm…disappointed, but it was for the best. Not everyone is equipped to handle immortality. My Mary couldn't. Edgar couldn't."

"My little hunter," Geoffrey teased once they reached the street, his expression overly emotive as he gazed adoringly at him.

A small smile ghosted across Jonathan's features. "You're incorrigible."

"What? So you _don't_ want your photograph displayed in the corridor as 'Rookie of the Month'?"

"I'm warning you, devil," Jonathan drawled, the smile widening.

Geoffrey gave him a cocky grin in return. "Not scared of a namby-pamby blood drinker who's all talk and no action."

Jonathan arched a brow. "You should be, hunter."

"Yeah?" Geoffrey's grin went criminal. "Tell you what. You catch me, and you can teach me a lesson. But if I catch you, expect a little punishment."

Jonathan couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Hm. And if I lose on purpose?"

"Oh, I'll know if you do that. Then you'll have to deal with me being…insufferable. And then Millar will get all squirrelly, Bates might cry…you'll have to play nanny to them, and that'll be a _true_ punishment."

"Ah. Well, we wouldn't want that. Besides, I'd rather brag about how soundly I defeated the great hunter and had him at my mercy. I'm sure they'd have plenty to say on that subject."

"Shut it," Geoffrey said with a snicker. "We'll go to Stonebridge; you can show me these so-called wicked skills of yours. Prove that your great battle wasn't some sort of fluke. And, chances are good we'll find a couple of skals on the way to hunt." As they walked together, Geoffrey saw Jonathan scent the air and then narrow his eyes as he caught the presence of a skal, and a pleased expression settled on his face. He had an equal now. A partner. And in time, Geoffrey knew that the raven would become just as effective of a hunter as he was. He was already quick, and Geoffrey knew he could hone that ruthless streak to a deadly point. The thought sent a shiver of pleasure through him, and his smile turned wolfish. He ran his tongue along his upper teeth to toy with the point of a fang, and then he smirked and bit his wrist, letting his blood fall silently in thick, fat droplets to the ground. The smirk widened when Jonathan suddenly broke off his hunt to stop and turn to him, eyes narrowed and a hungry gleam in the pale blue. Peering at him through his brows, Geoffrey slowly licked the crimson from his wrist, never breaking that intense stare. Suddenly, he flashed a wicked, toothy grin, and after dropping a cheeky wink, there was a quick wisp of black smoke, and Geoffrey was off.

As he ran from Jonathan, he could hear the raven behind him, and he laughed as he let him get closer, toying with him. For the first time in a very long time, the brunet was truly content - and it had taken a vampire of all things to get him there. He didn't know what the future would bring, or where he would find himself, but so long as he had Jonathan with him, he would take on anything and deal with it. And with an eternity ahead of him, he was looking forward to it!

EPILOGUE TO FOLLOW...


	14. Chapter Fourteen - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changes To Previous Chapter(s): Due to an HTML coding error, a couple of paragraphs were cut out of the oral sex scene, but I caught it by the next morning and put them in. Sorry! -_-;; Other than that, just fixing typos and rewording awkward reading sentences. (This notification will be removed from all chapters within a week or so).**
> 
> This is it, my darlings. The end. The happy ending?
> 
> It's been a long journey, hopefully a good journey, and I've had a lot of fun along the way. We've had our ups and downs, twists and turns, angst, frustration, and happiness. But, the ride is now over. Please exit the car to the left, and make sure you have all your personal belongings. I've enjoyed chatting to all of you. I'm happy that I could share this with you. Much love to you, and the Muses willing, I hope we might cross paths again in the future! ♥♥
> 
> One little note: For anyone curious about the pronunciation of 'Daerg-Due', it's sort of like DAH-rugh DU-ah...if you care about such things. ~_^

It was just before midnight when the black 2015 Triumph Tiger rolled into the parking lot. The rider parked around back and dismounted, and then slowly scanned the other vehicles present.

_Vauxhall…Couple of Jags…Audi…BMW… Hm…nice Porsche! …No. Not here…_

He reached for the sword that had been secured along the side of the bike and slung the belt around his waist, letting it hang lower on his hips as he flared the knee length black leather riding jacket back, allowing the garment drape around the weapon to conceal it. He took off the sleek black helmet and set it on the handlebars, and then turned to look at the sign that hung in front of the pub. The hand-painted graphic depicted a swollen, anthropomorphic black worm, smiling drunkenly from behind overly rotund cheeks and three rows of teeth as it rested its arms casually against the side of a martini glass. Behind it loomed the obvious torso of a pharmacist, who was pouring more spirits into the glass from an antique medicine bottle. Underneath, in Lakester font read _The Apothecary's Bloated Leech_. Blue eyes widened, and a single bark of laughter escaped the man as he entered the building.

Despite the old fashioned flavour of the exterior, the interior was a comfortable mix of old and new. Wooden beams, a well-worn concrete floor, and low ceilings were _de rigueur_ for most English pubs, and a warm fire crackled merrily in the hearth. The bar itself was built with black lacquered panels and stainless steel, and made to look like a laboratory bench. The seating area was low lit for ambience, while coloured lava lamps added both warmth and colour to the space. The tables had been constructed from black painted wood with old fashioned pharmaceutical labels set in lustrous epoxy on the tops, while the benches and chairs were made of a similar wood with silver lamé cushions for comfort.

There were a couple dozen patrons inside enjoying their drinks. Most were university students, but there were a few slightly older couples, and as always seemed to be the case when it came to taverns, a single old codger sat on a stool at the bar proper staring into his porter. Beer was served in proper pint glasses, but for those who were enjoying cocktails or shots, their drinks were served in different types of laboratory glassware and test tubes, and with the staff dressed in white lab coats, it was obviously in keeping with the theme.

"Don't think I've seen you here before, handsome," the bartender purred as she eyed him, noting the fitted leather pants, black mandarin collar Henley shirt with the casual burgundy scarf, and of course the jacket with its black lacing up the sides and buckles and zippers in the front. She leaned over the bar, hoping to scope out his ass, and found herself mildly disappointed by the coat's length.

Geoffrey smiled at her, a practiced expression that kept the tips of his fangs hidden. "First time," he replied as he ran his hands back through his undercut and smoothed it down. He nodded his chin towards a sign behind the bar, a smaller version of the one that hung out front. "Curious name."

Her cherry-red smile turned wicked. "Ah, lucky me! I get to pop your cherry then!" she teased with a wink as she peered over the black horn-rimmed spectacles at him, before she glanced over her shoulder. "Yes and no," she said. "Medway's just up the road a bit, and Mickey, the owner, has the dubious distinction of being the first one to flunk out of the Pharmacy School when it opened in '04. So, wanting to stay in contact with his mates, he bought this place, and themed it so the students would have a place that felt like home."

Geoffrey smirked. "Bit quaint of him to pick leeches, no? I mean, with all the modern advancements in medicine since Victorian times."

She laughed. "True enough. But, um…well…" She grinned widely. "Mickey's a great guy, but he's not the sharpest tack, if you get me. He thinks it's a double entendre for his John Thomas. Don't think he quite understands that his tackle don't work in quite the same direction, yeah?"

Geoffrey blinked, then laughed hard. "Let's just thank the Lord that he's not been granted the power to treat the populace."

Her grin went criminal. "Exactly! He does himself enough of a mischief just slogging drinks. But, he's got his niche." She licked her lips and then leaned forward on the bar, offering a view down her lab coat of her cleavage. "That said, what's your poison, Love?"

"Just a glass of tap water." He peered at her through his brows when she arched one of hers. "I tend to get a bit out of control if I give in to the drink."

"Ahh, you turn into a wild beast, do you?"

He chuckled. "You have no idea, Pet," he murmured.

"You don't say?" She smiled slowly. "Might not be a bad thing, all considered," she offered as she reached for a glass. "You want a twist?"

He smirked. "Careful now. If you offer yourself to the Big Bad Wolf, don't scream when he takes his first bite," he teased, and then shook his head. "Just straight water." He'd discovered for himself long ago that he could keep water down if he sipped it slowly - a fortunate thing when one wanted to blend in with human society. Jonathan had told him once that this was likely because blood was over ninety per cent water to start with, so he could tolerate small quantities in moderation. However, after a few disastrous experiences through the years with seltzer waters, and ice water with various garnishes, he'd quickly learned that 'water' meant just that. _Only_ water.

"For you, Mister Wolf, one water."

"Cheers," he said with a chuckle as he raised his glass in a toast. He set a ten pound note on the bar, and then took his drink and moved towards the back. It was less crowded.

This room had more of a lounge feel, with small vinyl couches and club chairs arranged for conversation groups, the lights lower and the space set to afford a more personal, intimate setting. Geoffrey looked around. Two of the couches were occupied by a group of three young men who were playing _Would You Rather_ , and laughing about something the one had said. He smirked, his thoughts turning to Millar, Cox, Hughes and Foster - _The Infuriating Four_ as he'd come to taunt them. It seemed that no matter how much time passed, some things would never change. In another part of the room, seated around a low coffee table and taking a meal were two couples. Geoffrey could smell the scent of roasted meat and gravy from whatever it was they'd ordered, and not having eaten himself, he was finding it off-putting. He moved to sit as far from them as possible, settling down on one of the couches by the fireplace and gazing into the embers as he drank his water.

Geoffrey must have sat there for twenty minutes or so before he raised his head a little, eyes falling closed as he discreetly scented the air. A crooked smirk slowly curved his lips upward as his gaze shifted sidelong, eyes narrowing and turning predatory. Suddenly, he pivoted on the cushion, moving to one knee as he faced the back of the sofa. At the same time, he snaked out a hand and grabbed the man behind him by his tie, the barrel of his Glock pressed insistently under his chin. He offered a very wolfish smile as he looked into the pale blue eyes he knew intimately, and he cheekily pursed his lips and offered a pert air kiss.

Jonathan's eyes were wide as he suddenly found himself caught and at gunpoint, though when he saw the smug expression, he frowned. "Damn you, McCullum," he muttered. "I thought I had you this time, especially since I've been watching you for the last half an hour!"

"Nope," Geoffrey replied cockily before he reholstered his weapon and turned around to sit back down, letting the other come around to join him. "You fooled me for a bit," he admitted as Jonathan sat beside him. "Where's your car? I didn't see it in the car park."

"At the bank across the way." Jonathan snorted. "I will beat you one day.'

"Nope," Geoffrey said again. "You've definitely gotten better, but you'll never beat me." He sipped his water and then offered the glass to Jonathan. "I always hear you smile when you get close."

"Hear me smile?" Jonathan snorted around the rim of the glass as he took a drink. "Insufferable bastard," he murmured, even as his lips turned up when he saw the arrogant smirk. "I can't help it. All this time, and I'm still unable to resist you."

"It's hard to explain. It…slips through in your thoughts. Nothing specific, just this…twinge of happy." Geoffrey grinned and offered a nonchalant shrug. "You could if you wanted to."

Jonathan's smile slowly widened. "And why on earth would I want to do that?" he purred darkly as he gave the other a very hungry look.

Geoffrey chuckled, even as his eyes lidded slightly and a warmth shot down his spine at the expression. Slowly, he let his gaze travel over Jonathan's form, appreciating the black bespoke suit with the black dress shirt and tie, and the military styling of the knee-length black wool overcoat. "Lucky day for me you don't." He licked his lips and glanced around the room. "Cute choice, this place. I laughed when I saw the name."

Jonathan grinned. "I figured you'd find the humour. I did the same when Sergeant Millar told me about it. He was quite pleased to have discovered it." Iain Millar was the great-great grandson of Colin Millar, and at twenty-five was just as much of a hellion as he'd been.

"Yeah, I bet he was," Geoffrey snorted, though not without a definite note of affectionate amusement. He'd been quite fond of the Millars he'd met over the years, this particular one being the fifth generation of Priwen guards. "But what the hell was Millar doing in Kent?"

Jonathan offered a small smile. "Well, I needed some information for my research from one of the professors at the university. Unfortunately, he only keeps office hours during the day, so Iain went to ask questions for me." He chuckled. "He's very clever. He would make an excellent research assistant."

"Oi now! You've got a research assistant!" Geoffrey said petulantly. "I might not have a doctor's degree, but I diligently collected enough boxtops from the biscuit packages to get my mail-in medical kit, yeah?" He smirked, then sobered. He'd actually earned a degree in mechanical engineering in the 1930s, and another in biochemistry in the 1950's via distance education through the University of London. "Was it helpful, what he found out?"

"Possibly. We'll know when you and I set up the next set of experiments, though I want to wait until after I see Elisabeth in the new year and check her prognosis." Jonathan chuckled. "Will you come with me this time? Majorca is quite beautiful, and I know she'd love to see you again."

"Ah, yeah! Another bloody beach resort! She intending to work on her tan?" Geoffrey made a face, finding Her Ladyship's typical vacation destinations odd for a vampire. "Sure she would. The old wench torments me for sport."

Jonathan laughed. "She told me once that she always teases her friends. And she did say she's started painting again. Apparently, she has done a portrait of you."

"She must fucking adore me then!" Geoffrey said as he rolled his eyes, but nodded after a moment. "Yeah, all right. I'll go. I want to see her 'artistic interpretation' of me. But I'm only agreeing for you. Not her."

"Of course," Jonathan replied, knowing full well that Geoffrey rather liked Elisabeth. He took another sip from Geoffrey's glass and then sat back with a small sigh.

Geoffrey arched a brow. "All right?" he asked, and then cocked his head to the side and frowned. He knew that after taking the Tears of Angels, it had tamed the raven's bloodlust substantially. Jonathan could go a fair bit of time without feeding, needing a small infusion of blood only once a month or so to remain largely in control - but he still needed it. And if he'd drank recently, he could even perform surgery, standing elbow deep in blood, and not feel overwhelmed by it. By happy circumstance, Geoffrey, too, had discovered his own need had diminished as time had passed. He could get by with once every few days, a week if he pushed it - but if he went much beyond that, he became almost unbearable to be around for his moodiness. He surmised it had something to do with his exposure to Jonathan's blood - God knew he drank enough of it to where he believed it was akin to getting a vaccine. "You look a bit peaked. Like you've not eaten in a while."

Jonathan shook his head. "It's nothing. It's just been a long few weeks with you gone," he said, and when he saw the way Geoffrey was staring at him, he smirked. "What?" he asked, knowing that while it had been a legitimate question borne of genuine concern, this was a part of the game the brunet would play when he'd been away for more than a few days.

Geoffrey arched a dubious brow. "You didn't crack while I was gone and kill any humans, did you?" he asked.

Jonathan's eyes shadowed, long lashes partially obscuring the pale blue. "Hn. You're the Great Hunter. You should know. You tell me."

"Hm." Geoffrey moved suddenly, roughly grasping Jonathan's cheeks in his hands and holding his head so that he could peer deeply into his eyes. They were still brilliantly clear, and gorgeously pale blue, like a glacial lake. His eyes narrowed slightly, and after casting a discreet glance around, he leaned in closer and kissed him, nipping the tip of Jonathan's tongue and his lower lip before he slowly sat back. His expression was contemplative as he licked his lower lip, and then he pressed them together, as if analysing the flavour of what he'd tasted. "Hm. No, you've been a good boy." He smiled, and then he sobered. "But you do need to feed. I'm betting you haven't since the last time I saw you."

"I promise I will." Jonathan leered darkly at Geoffrey and uttered a soft growl. "Later. When I have you alone and at my mercy." He grinned widely when he saw the slight arch of brow and the crooked smirk. He knew Geoffrey would make him work for it - much as he would do the same to the brunet were the tides turned. Clearing his throat, and forcing the delightful images of Geoffrey and blood from his mind, he asked, "How was Glasgow?"

Geoffrey snorted. "Shit. I hate the fucking rain. And flying. And you weren't there to entertain me. Bloody medical board, wanting you to ' _recertify_ '," he grumbled with mock petulance. He knew it was a standard five-year requirement, and Jonathan had not had any choice in the matter.

Jonathan chuckled. "Ah, the Gorbals Vampire wasn't suitably enthralling?"

Geoffrey made a face. "That was a bullshit case, and you bloody well know it!" he said, referring to the infamous case from 1954. After the police had played their part, Geoffrey had quietly investigated it on his own, determining it had been the product of the overactive imagination of children, and a rogue vulkod with no self-control who had ben eluding him since then. "This time, that prick Alistair Blair let himself get spotted. He thought it might be a lark to murder a bunch of people right before the holiday." He frowned. "As soon as I saw the mobile photographs popping up all over the place I knew it was him. It took a while for me to spot him for myself in Southern Necropolis - place is bloody huge - and for three nights he played this idiotic game of hide and seek with me in the rain, and that just pissed me off more about being there. Finally, I figured out where he was disappearing to, and the fucker made me chase him through the sodding sewers. Ugh, never seen so many rats in my life!" He cast a sidelong glance to Jonathan. "Too bad you didn't come. You'd have loved it."

Jonathan snorted in amusement. "One hundred years have passed, and you're still an arsehole. Do you know that?" he said with a chuckle and a gentle hand to a stubbled cheek.

"Aye. And proud of it," he said with a smirk. "Though to quote the late Colin Miller, God rest him, I'm _your_ arsehole."

Jonathan laughed. "Hn, that you are. Well, lucky for you I also find you incredibly charming and have managed to endure your obnoxiousness for as long as I have."

Geoffrey shrugged. "You can't have one without the other. It all comes together to form a complete, irresistible package." He flashed a toothy grin, fangs on prominent display.

"That's very true," Jonathan agreed. "You are irresistible. The one addiction I'll never give up." He gave Geoffrey a heated look. "My intriguing, enticing, _delicious_ devil."

Geoffrey still felt a shock of pleasure along his spine whenever Jonathan would pin him with that look - maybe even more now than when he'd first met him. The raven carried a darkness inside of him that called to Geoffrey's, and as Jonathan had embraced that part of him more and more with each passing year, Geoffrey had only grown to love him more and more. "It'll never happen," he purred cockily as he punctured the tip of his index finger with his tooth, and touched the pad to Jonathan's lip. "I'm too much of an enabler."

Jonathan's breath caught as he tasted Geoffrey's blood, and unable to stop himself, he flicked the tip of his tongue across the single droplet, and then grazed it with his teeth before drawing it briefly between his lips for a quick suck. "I will make you pay for that later," Jonathan said on a hungry growl as he licked his lower lip, before he shifted his position slightly so he could better face Geoffrey. "But right now, I want to give you something," he said, a bit of a flush colouring his cheeks.

"Yeah?" Geoffrey replied, a brow arching in interest. "Is it you?" he asked cheekily.

"N-no," Jonathan replied with a small smile as he felt his face grow warmer. His tongue failed him, and instead of delivering the eloquent message he'd practiced, he handed Geoffrey a small leather box with a rather clumsy, "For you."

Geoffrey's brow climbed higher as he took the box, both rooting for his hairline when he opened it and saw a sterling silver ring inside. The design consisted of a Trinity Knot flanked by two howling wolves done in a Celtic style. The band itself was a subtle weave of slightly burnished Celtic knots, the darker metal allowing the pattern to blend into the background. "Ah, that's bloody brilliant!" he exclaimed as he took it from the box and studied it. "No one's ever given me any sort of jewellery before," he added with a smile, and he glanced at the raven. "What's this all for, eh? Can't see it being for fifty years of stubbornness in chasing down Alistair Blair. You're an eternal smartarse, but that's a bit much, even for you."

Jonathan's eyes went wide, and he stammered, "Um, well…I - N-nothing, really, I suppose. J-just a gift." He offered an awkward smile. "I'm happy that you like it, though. I was worried when I chose it."

Geoffrey chuckled. "I love it." He turned it around in his hand for another moment, and then put it on the middle finger of his left hand. He then shifted his attention to the man beside him, and he pursed his lips in amusement at the way the other was avoiding his gaze. After letting the raven continue for another few seconds, Geoffrey peered through his brows at him. "Jonathan…" he murmured on a purred drawl, a smirk starting to slowly curve the corners of his lips upward when he heard the soft intake of breath. He put a hand to the bearded chin and turned the other's face so he could look him in the eye. "You're aces at most things, but you're a terrible, _terrible_ liar." There was a quick flash of teeth. "Tell me."

Jonathan raised his head, his eyes narrowing and taking on a soft, wanton glint when Geoffrey spoke his name. He cleared his throat, even as he felt the flush return, it deepening when Geoffrey cupped his chin. "It's not important, really. Just…a bit of idle, nostalgic foolishness on my part."

Geoffrey arched a brow, the smirk going slightly crooked. "Johnny…" he wheedled as he let his fingertips trail around the shell of Jonathan's ear to further caress the short hair at his nape.

Jonathan gasped softly, his eyes falling half closed as he exhaled on a sultry purr at the rarely spoken nickname. "Damn you. You're a bastard, using that against me." His eyes opened fully when Geoffrey's hand remained threaded in his hair, and the brunet continued to silently stare at him with that attractively smug simper. "Tch." Offering a small smile, he said, "One hundred years ago tonight, I left Pembroke Hospital to go with you, and we've been together ever since. It's our…anniversary, of a sort." He felt like his face was on fire now, but he pressed on. "It's sentimental, I know, but I thought, since it's been a century, I…wanted to give you something a bit…meaningful." He shrugged. "I know you don't like it when I fuss, but when I saw that in the shop, I couldn't resist. I'm sorry."

It was Geoffrey's turn to look uncomfortable. "I never said I didn't like it when you fuss. I just…I like it, but even after all this time, I don't know how to not be an awkward git about it. Thank Christ you understand me most of the time, or it'd be a right mess."

Jonathan did smile at that. "You don't have to say the words for me to understand you, Geoffrey. I just know. But if you like the gift, and you're happy, that's enough for me." He sobered some. "It's not like it was an arrangement to be wed or anything like that, so, like I said, it's really not that important. And it's fine that you didn't remember. Truly. We've never really made a thing of it, and it was a very long time ago. I don't even know why I did this."

"Jonathan?"

"Hm?"

Geoffrey caressed the back of Jonathan's head once more and then dropped his hand away. "Shut it." He offered a toothy grin when Jonathan gaped at him. "Married, eh? Hn. I'd be a shite husband. I'm hardly romantic at all. I'd never go and buy flowers. I think the last thing I _did_ buy you was a box of hollow points."

Jonathan chuckled. "That's Hollywood cliché, the roses and chocolates and poetry."

"Yeah, a cottage in the country, two kids, and a dog isn't for me." Geoffrey considered that for a moment. "Though, the Guard does act like a pack of children sometimes, so maybe we've got that covered."

Jonathan blinked, and then laughed. "After all these years, I like that you still make me laugh."

Geoffrey smiled. "I told you years ago, we're bloody good together. I've never forgotten that." He reached into his coat pocket and took out a small box of his own, smirked, and waggled his eyebrows as he passed it to Jonathan. "Just like I didn't forget today."

"And you say you're not romantic," Jonathan teased affectionately as he opened the box, and he smiled widely when he saw what was inside. This ring was also silver, and consisted to two wolf paws clasped together around a stone that was a deep forest green flecked with red. "What's the gem?" he asked.

"Bloodstone." Geoffrey watched as Jonathan put it on, going the more traditional route of his left ring finger, and then he shrugged awkwardly. "It's not binding in any legal sense, but then, what the hell would we fill out on the civil documents? _Jonathan Emmet Reid, age one hundred thirty-five, Geoffrey Ciaran McCullum, age one hundred thirty-four_? They'd probably tell us to quit taking the piss and get the hell out. Never mind the pain in the arse of having to redo it every few decades." He offered a small smile. "Maybe it's not 'official', but to me, it still counts as real. Besides, we'll probably be around longer than any paper they give us anyway, yeah?"

Jonathan admired the ring Geoffrey had gifted him, and then he turned to the brunet. "You're sure this is what you want?" he asked.

A slow smirk tugged at the corners of Geoffrey's lips. "You tell me," he murmured as he cupped the back of Jonathan's head and drew him in for a deep, languid kiss, his eyes falling closed as he mapped out every surface of Jonathan's mouth with his tongue. 

Jonathan returned the embrace, his own eyes fluttering shut as his tongue twined with Geoffrey's. He stole the tiniest taste of blood from Geoffrey's lip, and he purred contentedly as that familiar warmth spread outward through his frame to his extremities. He felt Geoffrey growl in response, the kiss becoming more insistently possessive. It continued for another few seconds, and then in the interests of basic human decorum, they moved apart.

_You're mine. Forever…_

Jonathan's expression was soft as he studied Geoffrey for a moment, knowing the brunet had meant what he'd thought, and then he gently put a hand on the scruffy cheek, lightly caressing it. "God, I adore you," he said softly.

Geoffrey licked his lower lip, and he looked at the ring on his hand. "You're sure this is what _you_ want? You know I'm the furthest thing from Prince Charming, yeah?"

Jonathan chuckled. "I was never all that keen on Prince Charming. The Big Bad Wolf is _much_ more interesting. He sees you better, and hears you better…and with those sharp teeth, he's all the better to devour you." He curled the tip of his tongue around a fang. "I'm not afraid of the wolf. I want him to hunt me." He flashed a dark grin. "I just want all of him."

Geoffrey groaned wantonly at Jonathan's teasing. "God, I want to do _such_ bad things to you," he murmured lowly as he gave the raven a very wanton look. "Hn, and I know the perfect place we can go for a honeymoon. Trust me, you'll love it!"

Jonathan arched a brow. "Oh? Where?"

Geoffrey grinned. "Waterford, Ireland."

Both brows went up. "Hm. And what would we be doing there?"

Geoffrey offered a sly smirk. "Well, there are beautiful castles and manor houses all through the countryside. We can stay in one while we put to rest the _Daerg-Due_."

"The what?"

"The Daerg-Due - the red blood drinker. The legend says a beautiful maiden was forced to wed a cruel, sadistic man instead of her true love. Broken hearted and driven mad from the torture she suffered at his hands, she eventually killed herself in her grief, and all she could remember of her life was her blood that had been spilled. Thirsting for revenge, with only blood to satisfy her, she rose from the grave as the Daerg-Due, doomed to forever walk the land in torment. She lures her victims from sleep with her siren's song, and then punishes them as she was punished."

Jonathan grinned. "I love hearing you speak words in your native tongue."

"You just love my tongue," Geoffrey leered.

Jonathan nodded. "One of the many things I love about you." A smirk followed. "Do you believe that legend is true? And if so, is it a subspecies of vampire? It sounds more like a ghost."

"Well…there's only one way to find out, yeah?"

Jonathan nodded. "All right. When do we leave?"

Geoffrey's brows shot up. "You're serious?"

"I'm serious. We'll go to Heathrow, catch a flight, be there before morning." The two got to their feet, and once outside, they crossed the street to where Jonathan's black 2013 Lotus Elise was parked, and the raven unlocked it.

"What about my bike?"

Jonathan chuckled. "I'll call Millar on my mobile. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to pick it up."

Geoffrey snorted. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"Ah, don't be such an old man. Where's your sense of adventure?" Jonathan asked as he continued to laugh.

"Oi, you're older than me, bastard!" Geoffrey shot back, and narrowing his eyes, he smirked, and snagged Jonathan's keys from his hand.

"What are you doing?" Jonathan asked, torn between amused and wary when he saw the wolfish grin.

"Got a better idea. We go back to London, you spend the rest of the night and part of tomorrow morning making me pay for my earlier treachery - and make me feel better about you not eating. Then, tomorrow night, we leave for Ireland."

Jonathan arched a brow. "Oh, I like that plan much better."

"Aye. I'm wicked good at plans." Geoffrey grinned and gave Jonathan a quick kiss as he put the keys in his palm. "Don’t keep me waiting too long."

"Keep _you_ waiting?" Jonathan replied. "I'm leaving first, and I drive fast."

"You do. But you're not mental, like me." Geoffrey winked, and held up a hand in a wave as he headed back to the bar to get his bike.

Jonathan got behind the wheel and pulled out onto the road. At that time of night, the traffic was light as he got on the carriageway and hit the accelerator, heading for London. About ten minutes into the trip, Jonathan spotted a black blur in his rear view, and coming up fast. A couple of minutes later, Geoffrey was next to him on his bike, and though Jonathan couldn't see his face for the dark visor, he just _knew_ he was laughing. He smirked in return, and then shook his head in amusement as Geoffrey pulled a wheelie, gave the bike some throttle, and took off, dropping back to two wheels after a quarter mile or so and accelerating further. _You're certifiable,_ Jonathan thought affectionately.

_Yeah, but it keeps things interesting…_

Jonathan laughed to himself when he heard the smug comment in his mind. He wasn't going to argue. And, after another ten minutes, he could no longer sense Geoffrey nearby.

Meanwhile, as Geoffrey exited onto the North Circular Road, he was still grinning. He had been playing games with Jonathan for one hundred years, and they were still as much fun to him now as they had been when he'd first taunted the raven back in Doris Fletcher's theatre. He upshifted, and felt the press of the ring against his hand, thought about the one Jonathan wore. Jonathan had always been his, and he'd always been Jonathan's, but this changed the rules of the game completely. It was one thing to say the words, but now this was unequivocal proof that they were bound together. It showed that yes, Geoffrey loved, and in return was loved, and he was more than okay with that. His smirk turned wicked, and a playful growl sounded in his throat.

_Let the games begin…_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanarts]A Sinner's tribute](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15616428) by Anonymous 




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